


Faking It

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Michael joins the crew, others are there as background characters, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:04:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: After a heist goes wrong and leaves Michael with the Corpirate out for his blood, he wants nothing to do with the Fake AH Crew ever again - at least until Gavin comes knocking on his door asking for a place to stay.





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight there were a lot of signs that something was not quite right about the Fake AH Crew’s offer.

For starters, Michael wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten his number in the first place - especially considering they’d directly called his personal phone rather than going through his usual guy, the guy that most criminals would know to get in touch with to hire a merc. The guy who filtered jobs to make sure shit like this couldn’t happen.

Secondly, there was the fact that they wanted to meet up out in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere on some sort of abandoned farm instead of any of the inner-city apartments, warehouses or clubs a crew of their level should’ve had at their disposal.

There were other clues, too - little things - that someone should’ve picked up on. Hell, someone smarter than Michael probably would’ve Sherlock Holmes’d that shit in two seconds.

His official excuse was that he was getting over a cold and his senses were hence not as sharp as they usually were. The reality was that he’d been nursing a hangover since Wednesday after a job went sour and one of the guys he was working with got caught in the blast of the bomb Michael used to mask their escape. It was pretty messy. Drink to forget and all that.

So he didn’t notice any of the warning signs as he trudged through the muddy field of the abandoned farm on a bright, crisp morning. He’d woken up late and skipped his morning coffee and was more focused on not falling asleep than anything else as he trudged into the rickety old building, one hand on his gun and the other rubbing his groggy eyes.

“Ramsey?” he hollered, as he entered.

Eighty thousand dollars, he’d been promised, for what sounded like quite a simple hit, too. Whoever these Fakes were, they were from out of town and he’d done some cursory digging to make sure they weren’t police plants or people who wanted to kill him. On the surface everything seemed clean.

On the fucking _surface_ \- but his regrets would come later, and for now he stood in the centre of the ramshackle dining room amidst the furniture rotting to pieces and planted his hands on his hips, squinting around. It was hard to see in here; the windows were covered in dust and thin slants of sunlight made their way into the room through holes in the glass. It gave everything a dim, otherworldly sort of feeling, and the place was so silent that it hovered between peaceful and eerie.

_Like something from fucking Resident Evil 7_ , was really Michael’s most eloquent thought about the whole thing.

A footstep shuffled in the next room, and his head snapped up. A little more awake now as the adrenaline started to kick in, he put his hand on his gun and turned as two figures stepped from the shadowy doorway on the far side of the room.

“Michael Jones,” a deep voice rang out, and Michael took a step back instinctively. A big guy dressed in dark leather was striding towards him, and his immediate recoil was mostly due to the fact that where the guy’s head should be was nothing but a black skull. In the lighting of the farmhouse, for a moment he really looked like some sort of horrid spectre, and in Michael’s hungover and half-asleep state he felt a genuine thrill of fear-

At least until the guy stepped into the light. Then he realised it was a mask, and the eye holes were big enough that he could see the guy’s blue eyes and a ring of skin underneath them, and the surface had a plastic-y shimmer that made it pretty clear it was just cheap rubber. Also his shoes kept squeaking every time he moved and Michael had to bite back a laugh.

_Okay,_ he thought, _what the fuck is this_. It was frankly just bizarre. But the second man stepped out then, and Michael turned his attention to him.

“What is this,” he blurted out, “A fucking circus?”

See, the guy’s moustache was fucking enormous and twirled up at the ends like a ringleader’s. It ranked just below giant 1800s whiskers on the list of ‘facial hair that is impossible to take seriously.’

At least this guy was wearing a suit - a nice one, too, Italian-cut and made of some sort of expensive spotless black material. From the neck down he looked fucking fantastic. It was everything between his nose and mouth that was the damn problem.

“What the fuck,” Michael continued, when they both froze and stared at him in surprise, “Why the hell is he dressed like that?”

The two of them stared at each other. It came across as an ominous sort of silence. Later Michael would realise they’d just been lost for words.

“What?” Handlebar spluttered indignantly. His voice was higher and shriller than Michael had expected. “I - what - the fuck - haven’t you _heard_ of the _Vagabond_?”

He really said it like it was supposed to mean something, and it made Michael feel like he was the one out of the loop here.

Still, though.

“The Vaga-what?” he demanded. “It’s not Halloween, you fucking clown. What, are you horribly scarred under there or something?”

“No!” the guy in the mask protested, with such great indignity that any lingering threatening factor was totally lost.

“He’s a spectre of death,” Handlebar continued, enthusiastically, “The most feared killer our side of the country.”

“Yeah? Well I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s got a kill count in the hundreds. He covers his face because he’s so fucking wanted by the police that if they knew who he was he’d have the entire FBI after him. Anyone,” he continued with relish, “Who looks upon his face _dies!_ ”

Michael processed this in silence. He really did wrack his brains trying to figure out if he’d somehow missed hearing about this guy. He’d been pretty wrapped up in purely the Jersey crime scene the last few years, after all. 

“Must be one ugly motherfucker,” he said, when he came up with nothing. The guy in the mask began to splutter and protest and Michael turned to Handlebar. “I take it you’re Ramsey, then. Nice suit,” he added, with a nod, because up close it really was _very nice._

In fact, it was the suit that made him trust him, because it was honestly in a league that only those in a certain class of ‘rich’ that mostly contained criminals of some sort or another could have afforded. Bad facial hair and dodgy costumes be damned; the suit spoke for itself.

Ramsey looked very pleased.

"Call me Geoff," he said, and held out a hand for Michael to shake. It was an oddly formal gesture and not one he'd expected given the way he'd dealt with other gang leaders in the past, but, bemused, he grasped Geoff's hand and shook firmly. "And the Vagabond over there is Ryan."

Michael raised an eyebrow.

"So his face is secret but his name isn't?" 

Geoff looked almost embarrassed, but recovered quickly.

"Not his real name, but easier and quicker."

"You could shorten it to Bond," Michael suggested, and was startled when they both looked at each other and laughed.

"Gavin would have a fucking field day with that," Geoff said, and Michael frowned, confused - but Geoff dropped his hand then and planted his hands on his hips instead, rocking back and forth thoughtfully. "Anyway. Michael Jones! We need an explosives expert for that bank hit we talked about and word on the street is you're one of the best in the business. We looked into a few of your jobs and the precision, the attention to detail, it's unparalleled. This hit is gonna make us all rich if we pull it off and we'd be willing to give you a generous cut."

"You know all about me, but I don't know shit about you. What's the Fake AH Crew? Never heard of it before. Where'd you say you were from again?" Michael asked. Ramsey didn't sound like he was lying about this job, but Michael was no fool.

"Achievement City."

"Oh, that shithole." It wasn't too far from Jersey, but it was small and filthy and pretty much known as the bottom of the pit.

Geoff bristled.

"AC's great!" he squawked. "People judge it based on that one asshole documentary about the leaking sewage plant, but it's bigger than you'd think - and out of all the gangs there, the Fake AH Crew's the top dog. We run the damn place and we pull the biggest heists you've ever seen. We'll tell you all about them. We keep a low profile - that's our secret.  Get too big and you start causing trouble - with the cops, with other gangs. But stay on the down-low and pull the chair out from under everyone else... that's what gets you to the top, you follow?"

"I suppose so," Michael replied dubiously.

"We're rich as hell, powerful, pull heists no one else would even dream of. Our team's an elite crew each with a specialised skill set. With you along, the shit we could pull off..." He trailed off, hands wide in offering. "New Jersey's a big city. You won't stand out here no matter how hard you try. You really wanna make a name for yourself, my crew and my city are the place to do it."

"And the job?"

"Tower Bank. Run by one of the city's billionaire residents, big flashy building just begging for someone to come along and pick it clean. There's an underground vault containing a shitload of gold. It'll be international news if we get into that thing. We got it all planned out - but that's confidential," Ramsey said, with a winning smile, "Depending on if you're in or not."

Michael bit his lip, mulling it over. His last few jobs had been unsavoury sorts of things. Gang warfare, kidnappings, bringing other crews' hideouts down around their ears. Things with a high body count and nothing to speak of but blood and bone in the end. The thought of pulling a big, flashy heist, for the end goal to be money and glory rather than another half a dozen added to his body count... it was the sort of opportunity he hadn't had in a long time, and he couldn't deny that it called to him.

He looked up and frowned. Ryan was hulking around next to them with his shoulders all hunched up and arms hanging at his sides like some sort of lurking gorilla.

"What the fuck is up with you?" Michael demanded.

"What?" Ryan said, shoulders slumping immediately. Behind the mask his blue eyes looked almost embarrassed.

"The hell you standing like that for?"

"Like what?" Ryan asked, defensively.

"Like a fucking Neanderthal, is what." Michael imitated the pose complete with grunting caveman sounds and Ryan bristled. He saw Geoff's lips twitch.

"So you in or not?" he asked, and Michael dropped the act and turned back to him.

"I'm in," he said on impulse, "I'd like the challenge. How many in your gang?”

“Six,” Geoff replied.

Michael frowned. He’d meant how many overall, since he assumed if Geoff’s crew really did run the entire city he’d have a lot more than just half a dozen people at his disposal. But maybe he meant just the main players, and for now he didn’t question it - just nodded.

Geoff clapped his hands together and beamed.

“Excellent!” he cried. “Let’s get going, then. If we start now we’ll reach AC by the afternoon.”

\---

There were more clues on the drive over, and by this point Michael had a takeaway coffee from McDonalds in him and began to notice a few things that were a little bit fishy.

For one, Ryan took his mask off without a second thought to down a sausage and egg McMuffin and seemed to have absolutely no qualms about doing so. Michael did a double take as, from the backseat, he got a good view of the Vagabond's face in the rear-view mirror. He seemed disarmingly normal, with piercing blue eyes and a strong jawline. The mask had left funny red marks down each cheek.

"What about your secret identity?" he couldn't help demanding.

"What?" Ryan asked, through a mouthful of egg. "Oh, don't worry about it. We're in the car. It's fine."

Okay. It seemed oddly dismissive if he really was meant to be one of the most notorious assassins in the country, but Michael brushed it off, figuring he knew what he was doing.

The second incident came an hour or so into the ride when a sudden bump in the road made Geoff spill the coffee he'd been holding in one hand. It splashed over his sleeve and the cuffs of his shirt and onto his thigh, and he shrieked like a banshee.

"Fuck, fuck- paper towels, Ryan! Get paper towels!"

"We don't have any!" Ryan replied, frantically rummaging about. "I have a slightly used tissue!"

"This suit cost a fuckload to rent and they'll kill me if it's damaged in any way, Jesus- what about wet wipes, have we got any wet wipes in the glovebox?"

"Why the fuck would we have wet wipes in the glovebox?"

"I don't fucking know, for hygiene? Because that miscreant Ray likes to wank off at stoplights? Hurry up, it's staining!"

Michael raised an eyebrow, watching silently. So he didn't own the suit after all. Still - it had looked very expensive and maybe it'd just been more convenient to not have to commit to owning it. He was able to swallow that one away, too, but it nagged at him-

At least until they got out onto the highway and to pass the time Geoff and Ryan started telling him more about their heists, and honestly, they all sounded fucking amazing. From escapes in helicopters and speedboats to transporting gold bars on a train stashed in a frikkin' port-a-potty, the concepts were bizarre, spectacular, thrilling. The sort of things you read about in adventure novels but that only a genius or madman - or both - would dream of pulling off in person.

"Jesus, how come you guys aren't better heard of? I thought that shit would make national news!"

"Oh, we've had our fair share of screentime," Geoff admitted, his face red in what Michael assumed was an endearing sort of humble bashfulness, "But we wear masks so often and Achievement City is so self-contained that I suppose it's understandable people haven't linked all these incidents together properly yet."

"How about you, Michael?" Ryan asked then. "What sort of jobs have been your favourite to pull off?"

Michael fell silent. After all their fiascos - all of which, he'd noticed, hadn't involved bragging about a body count - his own work seemed unbelievably gory in comparison. Usually that was something he wouldn't give a shit about, but something seemed different about these two. A bit... goofy, he supposed, he couldn't think of another word for it, but they seemed from another world, one that didn't invite the sort of violence that he'd been immersed in his whole career.

"I've never been part of a crew like it seems you lot have," he replied slowly. "I just... I guess the gangs in my area were never close like yours. More like packs of wild dogs, always on the brink of tearing each other apart. A lot of drugs involved, a lot of bloodshed. I never trusted anyone enough - easier to work on my own and just freelance for different groups."

His voice was carefully blank, but he still saw them exchange a glance before Ryan twisted in his seat to shoot him a sympathetic look.

"That sucks," was all he offered, but the little, quiet smile he gave somehow meant more to Michael than any words he could've said. He managed a smile back, a little shrug.

"Thanks. It is what it is in our business."

"Doesn't have to be," Geoff cut in, and Michael shrugged a little before reaching to turn on the radio.

\---

By the time they arrived in Achievement City, Michael had heard so many amazing stories that he was actually quite excited to meet the crew. 

Excited enough to overlook the fact that they didn't go to the expensive penthouse he assumed Geoff owned, or some extensive high-security base, but rather to what looked a lot like some sort of cheap sharehouse in a rundown suburb where the gardens were overgrown and every surface was covered in graffiti.

Excited enough not to push it when he asked Geoff if this was one of his safehouses and the man laughed and replied, "Nah, dude, this is my pad! I live here with Jack and Ryan."

An odd arrangement, but one that he was sure there was some sort of explanation for - and he was still looking forward to the job enough that he didn't question the fact that there was a distinct lack of any sort of the usual heist supplies he'd expect as they entered the house, moving down a messy corridor past doors opening into little bedrooms and into a cosy sitting area.

There was a whiteboard on the wall. Yes, a whiteboard was good. A big map of the city was stuck up next to it - even better.

But otherwise, it looked disarmingly normal. Second-hand furniture framed the little room, soft worn couches and a battered looking coffee table. A messy shelf filled with Xbox games was along one wall, and a television surrounded by tangled wires and consoles sat opposite the couch. 

It wasn't the sort of place he'd expect to find the leader of the gang that ran the entire city. He'd visited a few kingpins' houses in his time and they were usually extravagant as fuck.

_Maybe he's just the sort of guy who likes to live humbly,_ he thought, but a bit dubiously. Geoff did seem remarkably mundane but something still felt off about this.

Still - he didn't have much time to dwell on it, because his attention was immediately drawn to the others in the room. 

Three young men were crammed on the couch huddled over what Michael realised immediately was a Nintendo DS screen. His first thought was confusion, then shock, because if he'd thought Ryan and Geoff's getups were a bit random these three were probably the most eclectic collection he'd ever seen; the guy holding the DS was in a bright purple hoodie and beanie despite the fact that it was summer out and he could already tell this house had no air con. Beside him was a skinny fellow with fucking frosted tips and a pair of gold sunglasses shoved up in his messy hair. The final young man was dressed in the most garish combination of purple and orange that Michael had ever seen. He was also bald as an egg, which usually wouldn't matter, but combined with everything else it was the icing on the fucking cake, especially since what looked a hell of a lot like a white cowboy hat was resting on one of his knees.

"Geoff! You're back," another voice called, and Michael turned, hoping for someone remotely resembling what he was expecting from the most feared crew in the city.

Nope. The man entering from what seemed to be the kitchen was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and a God damn Santa hat. Holy shit. It was like he'd walked into a fucking cartoon.

It was at this point that he began to properly realise things were not quite as they seemed. But Geoff stepped forward and jostled Michael's shoulder.

"Ray, put that thing away," he boomed. "Listen the fuck up everyone, it's heist time. Michael Jones has agreed to help us."

The room fell silent. Michael felt inexplicably awkward; he was usually confident in what he did but everything about this felt so strange: the house, the men, the fact that this wasn't his home city. He opted to scowl in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion. That only led the blond guy to lean forward with a wide grin and declare:

"Grumpy looking fellow, inne?"

"Shut the fuck up, Gavin," the bald man hissed, reaching out and swatting him on the side of the head.

"What the hell is this?" Michael demanded, whirling on Geoff. "This is your crew? Just these guys?"

"Yes!" Geoff declared, brightly, "The ones I told you all about in the car. Here's Jack," he said, pacing over to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "My right hand man."

There was something about the way Jack looked at him with a little smile, and leaned into his touch, that gave Michael pause. But Geoff hadn't said anything about them being together, and a moment later he turned away and walked over to the others instead.

"And these are the lads. Ray, our sniper. Gavin, our hacker. And that's Jeremy, our other main crew muscle."

"But don't call me Jeremy in public," Jeremy cut in, insistently, "My alias is Rimmy Tim."

"I didn't think anything could get cringier than Vagabond but here we fucking are," Michael replied. "Are you fucking colourblind?"

"No?" Jeremy sputtered.

"Then you have no excuse for that colour combination."

"Where'd you get this guy, Geoff?" Gavin chirped. "He's a complete arsehole."

"You're the one who dug up his name, idiot," Geoff replied brightly. "Anyway, that's the gang. Now let's run you through the plan. We're hitting the bank tonight."

The others scrambled to get ready, but Gavin stayed on the couch, staring at Michael, slowly taking the sunglasses from his head. Michael stared back at him. The British accent had been a bit of a shock. It was also curious knowing that Gavin was apparently the one who'd directed the others to him. Their eyes met and when Michael raised an eyebrow, Gavin looked away, cheeks burning red, seeming almost shy. A moment later he bounced up off the couch and scuttled off.

Ray had lingered by the couch, painstakingly putting his Nintendo back in its case. He looked up at Michael, face expressionless. Michael immediately knew he was the type that was impossible to read, and not just like the others in this gang whose behaviour and fashion sense were so damn bizarre that he couldn't figure them out.

"For the record," Ray said, "I'm not actually part of this crew."

"Okay?"

"I'm a freelancer. I work for them now and then because we're old friends, but I'm not one of the Fakes."

"Right," Michael said, a little unsure what was going on here.

"Just wanted you to know. I do not associate myself as one of them whatsoever."

"I'm not sure why that matters, but sure," Michael said - but there was something in the way Ray said it that made him pause. What was so wrong with the Fakes that he'd bother with the fucking disclaimer? Still - Ray wandered off a moment later and Michael was left to stand there staring at the map, waiting for them all to get themselves organised, an uneasy feeling starting to build in the pit of his stomach.

\---

There wasn't really one thing that Michael could put his finger on that was wrong with the plan. It was simpler than he'd expected considering Tower Bank was one of the biggest, most heavily guarded places in Achievement City - he didn't know a lot about the city but it was probably one of the things he associated with it; like the Sydney Opera House or the Statue of Liberty, except ten times more shit and ugly.

The Fake AH Crew seemed very confident that they could break in, but to be honest, their plan was a bit... God, he didn't know how to put it into words. It was both oddly underwhelming yet at times so fucking ridiculous that he didn't know what to think.

"But you can't just walk up to the back door," he protested.

"We can if they're distracted by the flares being fired at the roof," Geoff said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And you're sure these explosives will be able to break through the vault door?"

"Sure they will!"

"And how will you prevent the police from getting there fast enough to stop us again?"

"The wall of fire, Michael, keep up."

They seemed so completely confident that it would work that he figured they must know what they were doing. They were the biggest crew in the city, after all, and had pulled off all those jobs they'd talked about. He'd also noticed, on some of the walls in the house, framed newspaper articles about their gang complete with photographs of Ryan and what he assumed were the others in their masks. Perhaps it was all for the best.

Evening fell and they prepared to go out. He'd brought his supplies with him and the others were out in the garage preparing their weapons. Michael stood in the kitchen pouring himself a drink. If he could say one thing about the house it was that they had a damn impressive whiskey collection.

"Sure you should be drinking before the job?" 

The voice made him whirl around. Gavin was leaning in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets and a crooked grin on his face. Michael frowned a little.

It was his first chance to get a good look at the other man. He was young, he realised - probably only about Michael's age. Remarkably unscarred for someone in their business, although his nose looked like it'd been fucked up more than once - or maybe he was just born like that. It was hard to tell, the thing was so damn big.

Still. He was good looking and the accent was the icing on the cake, and maybe Michael was a little too interested as he leaned against the counter and folded his arms.

"I can hold my liquor," he replied. "'sides, I'm not drunk."

"You smelled drunk when you came in," Gavin said, nose wrinkling, and Michael laughed, and tried not to dwell on the fact that the other man had noticed.

"That was yesterday's drunk."

"Fair enough." Gavin's lips twitched. "We have lots of bev nights - the crew. They're fun. You should come along, after this job."

"If it all goes well." Michael set the bottle down on the counter and stepped towards him. "Those look like expensive glasses."

"These?" Gavin reached up and pulled his sunglasses down onto his nose. They suited him, extravagant as they were. "They cost me fifteen thousand dollars."

Michael froze.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. First heist we pulled off I decided to splurge on them with the profits. They remind me of our victory." Gavin grinned again and Michael stared at him. His doubts faded; seemed like the crew did have their fair share of successes then. "I'm excited to pull this job. It's been a while since our last one."

"I imagine it took ages to plan this," Michael said - for a crew with the Fakes' record he imagined they spent more time putting things in place and then pulling a few big hits a year - Gavin's grin faltered, but his eyes were hidden behind the glasses.

"Oh yeah," he said, and then bounded forward and looped his arm through Michael's. Michael stiffened, a bit shocked by the sudden contact. Part of him thought he really should push Gavin away, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to. "Come on then, the others are nearly done! We want to get in there right as the sun sets!"

Michael heard himself let out a startled laugh as Gavin tugged him from the room, and if his heart was pounding with something too close to hope, well, he blamed it on the lack of sleep and excess of coffee he'd had today. Nothing more.

\---

So all the signs were there, and honestly, anyone else would probably have put them together. Michael was well known for his bombs, not his brains, and maybe this was his carelessness coming back to bite himself in the ass. Later he’d kick himself for being such a great big fucking unobservant idiot.

Things went to shit immediately.

Michael was in a car with Jack and Jeremy, their aim being to break into the building itself. Geoff and Ryan were creating the diversion, Ray sniping from a building opposite and Gavin monitoring their position over the street's security cameras from back in the base. The streets were busy with peak hour traffic and the bank itself was bustling with activity, people coming in and out.

Later Michael would struggle to pinpoint exactly what order things went to shit in. What he did know was that at some point the 'wall of fire' got totally out of control, that there were about five times more guards than expected, that Gavin apparently struggled to monitor more than one screen at once, and that everyone had failed to take into consideration the fact that there was a police station only three blocks away.

They didn't even get into the fucking bank before he and Jack and Jeremy were backed up in an alleyway with blue and red light washing over them and silhouetted figures with guns advancing slowly. He could hear the wail of sirens as the fire department approached and smell thick smoke in the air, hear the whirl of choppers. 

They'd backed into this dead end because he was hoping to set a charge against the back wall and make an exit for them - but as he struggled to fiddle with wires in the dark with six other people screaming into his earpiece, he couldn't help but notice that the others, who were meant to be holding off the police, didn't seem to be doing a very good job of it.

"Shit!" he yelled, as another bullet ricocheted off the wall next to him and he dove sideways to take cover behind the marginal safety of the dumpsters at the back of the alley. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Holding them off!" Jeremy yelped.

Michael looked up, shaking his hair out of his face as he paid attention to the two of them for the first time. It quickly became very clear why the police were gaining on them; neither Jeremy nor Jack seemed to have the first fucking clue how to aim, and their bullets were shooting harmlessly past the officers as they fumbled to reload between shots.

"Give me that," Michael snapped, and snatched the gun from Jeremy, ignoring his surprised cry. He rose, simmering with adrenaline, and took a steadying breath before firing - one, two, three shots that took down three officers in turn. The others froze, backing up a bit, and there was a sudden lull in which Michael was acutely aware of how his heart was pounding and how completely fucked the situation was.

Then Ray's voice rang out over the earpiece.

"Hey, idiots. I've moved and I can cover you, get the hell out of there."

A second later the crack of a rifle rang out and the police began dropping like flies. There was an explosion out in the street as the gas tank of a car was hit and the entire alley trembled; Michael ducked back behind cover as screaming, yelling and chaos rang out.

“Come on!” Jack was yelling, beckoning - there was a gap where the police had retreated and he ran towards it. Michael scrambled to his feet, seizing Jeremy’s arm and yanking him along with him as they stumbled down the alley and squeezed into a narrow sidestreet, looping around before emerging closer to the front of the bank-

Only to freeze. Three men stepped out from between the buildings towards them. They clearly weren’t police officers; not only were they clad in black suits but the lower halves of their faces were covered by red scarves. They were already lifting guns and without thinking about it Michael raised his pistol again and fired at two of them. They stumbled back - he’d hit them in the chest but he couldn’t see blood and figured quickly, _body armour -_ he charged forward to fire at their heads, taking them down before turning to the one man remaining. His elbow slammed into the man’s gut before he snatched the gun from his hands and spun it around, the butt of the rifle cracking him across the jaw. He crumpled to the ground, but Michael didn’t have time to check if he was dead.

“Come on!” he yelled, rushing along the street.

“Jesus, Michael!” Jeremy yelled behind him. “That was like something from a movie!”  
  
_Like something from a movie_.

Somehow, after everything, that was what made it all fall into place. _Something from a movie_. More like something from Michael’s real fucking life, from what should’ve been familiar to all of them. He stared at Jeremy, breathing heavily, the pieces still slowly fitting together in his mind-

Then a car screeched around the corner and pulled to a halt next to them. Ryan, in the backseat, leaned across and opened the door.

“Get in!” he yelled, sounding far more panicked than the “best assassin this side of the country” really should, and they scrambled to obey. The door slammed shut behind them and the car sped off. 

Crammed between Ryan and Jack, Michael twisted to look out the back windscreen. The road was on fire, the entire night was lit up with flashing sirens, and helicopters wheeled about in the sky behind them. Fallen figures lay bleeding out on the road and over the earpiece he heard Gavin demanding if they were alright, Ray grunting something about meeting them back at the base.

_What a shitshow_ , he thought, and slumped back against the seat, simmering with anger. _What a fucking shitshow._

\---

By the time they got back to the safehouse, Michael was _spewing._

He’d had enough time in the car to think things over and come to some rather unsettling conclusions. What burned most of all was the humiliation of knowing he’d been careless, that he’d been so desperate and pathetic for a somewhat cleaner job than he usually took that he’d jumped at the first chance to get out of Jersey. And in the process? All he’d done was make a complete fucking fool of himself by associating himself with these clowns.

“What the fuck was that?” he spat, the second they marched in the door. If there was one thing these guys were at least vaguely good at it was losing the cops. At least there hadn’t been another shootout, even if they were walking away empty-handed and down on resources.

“Look,” Geoff began defensively, “It may have gone a _bit_ wrong-”

“A ‘bit’ my ass.”

“Who’s biting whose arse?” Gavin piped up, as they marched into the sitting room. He was on the couch putting down his laptop and Michael felt another hot flare of anger. _Some fucking hacker he is_. He’d fallen apart the second that things started heating up and been absolutely no use at giving them intel about what side their enemies were approaching from.

Ray slunk out from the bathroom, leaning in the doorframe with his hands jammed in his pockets. Michael caught the lingering scent of weed, but honestly it was the sight of the sniper that cooled his jets at least a little.

“You,” he said, pointing at him - Ray raised a single eyebrow - “Why are you the only remotely competent individual in this fucking crew?”

“I told you,” Ray drawled, “I’m not part of the crew.”

“Great. So _all_ of the Fakes are total fucking idiots then.” He whirled on the others, who were slinking into the room sheepishly with their tails between their legs. “What the fuck happened out there?”

“Look,” Geoff began, but Michael barrelled on before he could continue.

“I thought your plan sounded a bit dodgy but _hey_ , I thought, _they’re the best crew in the city_. What the hell, I’ll trust them. More fucking fool me because that was the biggest load of shit I’ve ever been a part of in my life!”

“Michael-”

“Do you know what sort of fucking crews I work for back in Jersey? I have high fucking standards-”

“Just listen for one second-”

“None of you were in sync with each other, your fucking hacker doesn’t know how to hack, and apparently none of you even know how to fire a damn gun. You all dress like you were drawn by a fucking toddler and if I didn’t know better I’d say none of you have successfully committed a crime in your damn lives. So someone please, explain to me what the fuck is _actually_ going on here?”

He paused to catch his breath, fists clenched and hot with anger. There was a long, awkward silence. Gavin had pulled his sunglasses down to cover his eyes and Jeremy was staring sheepishly at the floor and clutching his hat in both hands.

“That toddler comment was a bit savage,” Ryan piped up finally, and Michael turned to him with his deadliest glare - only for Geoff to step towards him, hands raised.

“Okay, look,” he said, placatingly, “This wasn’t our _best_ run, but we’re getting there.”

“How the hell did you pull off all those other heists if you’re this fucking incompetent?” he spat.

They all exchanged a very guilty look.

“ _Pull off_ is a slight exaggeration,” Ryan said.

Michael felt like his head was about to explode.

“What the fuck does that mean? You _failed_ all those ideas you told me about?”

“ _Ideas_ is the key word in that sentence,” Geoff said. “We’re very good at planning things very extensively. We just… rarely actually do them. Our _first_ heist went super well! That one was fantastic! But since then…”

Michael stared at him, aghast. After a moment he reached up and rubbed his temples, furiously.

“Are you telling me that the gold in the port-a-potty… the train across the city… the parachutes… all that shit didn’t even happen? You just _thought_ about it?”

“We drew diagrams!” Gavin said, brightly. “And did the budget for some of them! So we really thought very, _very_ hard about them.”

“You’re fucking kidding. Except you’re not, and somehow it’s even worse. So who the fuck are you guys then, if you’re not actually a _world renowned_ crew of notorious criminals?” he demanded, a mocking twist in his voice.

There was a sheepish silence.

“I mean, I _am_ an assassin,” Ryan spoke up, “I killed a guy once. Maybe twice, for money, at the start. But now I work exclusively for Geoff-”

“Who never actually sends you on jobs,” Michael said snidely.

“So I work in the library on the side.”

“It’s very good for when we need to do research,” Geoff said proudly, and Michael scowled at him.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“He and Jack sell weed,” Ray cut in, impatiently. He shouldered his way into the fray, glancing at Michael before turning to the others. “So sure, they’re _technically_ terrifying criminal drug dealers trying to kick-start their own big shot crew. Jeremy’s studying at the uni downtown and does some street racing on the side. This idiot,” he slapped Gavin upside the head, drawing a yelp as his glasses bounced off his nose, “Got caught robbing a convenience store a while back and now he’s on the run from the cops because he doesn’t want to get deported back to England.”

“It’s possible my visa expired a while ago,” Gavin protested, rubbing the back of his head. “But it’s fine! They’ve stopped chasing me by now! It’s just hard for me to get a job ‘cause of it.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Michael said. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m a legit sniper. Work freelance, take jobs most days. Used to room with Gav when he first came to the city, that’s how I know these assholes. Most of them met on Steam; they used to play GTA together. Now, if that’s another failed heist out of the way, I’m out. Pizza Hut and Counterstrike await me at home.”

Ray flounced for the door, shaking off Gavin when the other man caught at his hand.

“So the only legit one in your crew isn’t actually in the crew,” Michael said, and stared at them all again. His anger was fading now, replaced only by a sinking disbelief. “This is a fucking joke.”

“We are _not_ a joke,” Geoff protested, “We’re gonna get there one day.”

“ _Specialised skill sets_ my ass. You’re a bunch of clowns and you’re gonna get yourselves either killed or arrested. Well, I want no part of it - what a waste of my fucking time. I’m going home.”

He spun for the door.

“Michael!” Gavin cried in his ridiculous accent, “Wait!”

“No,” Michael said flatly, and marched out without a single glance back. He felt oddly flat and refused to believe it was because he’d actually _wanted_ this - this group of extravagant criminals whose heists were about the excitement and thrill of the chase rather than the actual money, the bloodshed. He supposed it really had been too damn good to be true.

He got halfway down the street before realising he had no car, and it was nearly midnight. Angrily, he googled the nearest hotel and called a cab, and by the time he was finally lying in bed ready to sleep he’d drunk half the minibar and was too pissed to think any further about what had gone down tonight.

—

Michael woke the next morning with a pounding headache and a sick feeling in his stomach, disoriented and unsure where he was-

And mostly only conscious of his phone buzzing, buzzing, buzzing away on the bedside table. Blearily, he picked it up and glanced at the screen. It was Trevor, the contact who usually picked up jobs for him.

“Trev?” he asked, putting the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

“Michael?” The serious note in the other man’s voice had him sitting up, instantly more alert. “Where are you right now?”

“Achievement City. Why? I’m gonna drive back to Jersey today.”

“No, you’re not. What the hell happened last night? You said it was a job you could trust-”

“Turns out they were a bunch of frauds. Not a proper gang at all, just a load of idiots punching above their weight. They had a reasonable sounding heist planning to hit Tower Bank but it fell apart when we actually tried it. I’m fine, though. Just annoyed.”

“Michael.” There was still something funny in Trevor’s voice, something that left Michael uneasy and thinking there was still something he was missing in this whole situation. “Do you know who owns Tower Bank?”

“I dunno, some hotshot businessman?”

“The Corpirate,” Trevor said, and Michael’s blood ran cold. He didn’t know a lot about the man, since he lived in Achievement City, but he’d heard the name and he knew he was dangerous - very, _very_ dangerous. “Did you kill some of his men?”

“No,” Michael began, only to freeze as he remembered the three bodyguards who’d attacked them right before they could get to the car. “I mean, yes, but-”

“But one of them survived,” Trevor cut in, “And saw the back of your jacket and fucking tracked down who you are. He knows you killed his men, Michael, and he’s not happy. He’s looking for you and from what I gather he’s watching all the exits out of the city.”

“Fuck me.” Michael had sobered up uncomfortably now, his head pounding dully. “What should I do?”

“My advice? Nothing. Lay low until this all blows over and then sneak out of the city once you get the chance. Don’t take jobs, don’t go trying to pull a fast one on him. The Corpirate’s bigger than you or me or anyone we’ve worked with before.”

“Can you keep an eye on things for me?” Trevor wasn’t what he’d call a close _friend_ , but he was probably the closest thing Michael had. He heard the momentary hesitation - but then Trevor sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “I… I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if I think things have blown over, but I won’t go prying.”

“That’s all I ask. Thanks, Trevor.”

“Jesus, Michael,” is all Trevor said, and hung up. Michael sat for a moment, processing this - then hurled his phone against the wall and reached up to clutch at his hair.

“Fucking _Fakes_ ,” he hissed.

\---

He didn’t know why he found himself back at the safehouse, still in yesterday’s clothes, unshaven and hungover and furious. Maybe because some part of himself that was softer than he liked to admit was endeared enough by this bunch of bumbling idiots that he thought someone, at least, ought to warn them the Corpirate was probably after them too. Maybe because he just wanted to make sure they knew exactly how _pissed off_ he was.

Either way, he found himself marching up to the front door at exactly the same time that Gavin strolled down the street, whistling to himself. In the bright morning sunlight the sunglasses on his head glinted almost blindingly. Everything from the neck-up was in stark contrast to the rest of him - the jeans that had holes Michael was pretty sure weren’t just there to be fashionable, the sneakers that looked on the verge of falling apart, the hoodie that was clumsily stitched together in places. Still, Gavin seemed perfectly happy, waving cheerily at Michael as they met at the front door.

“ _Michael!”_ he cooed. “You’re back!”

“I’m back to kick your ass for getting me in shit with the Corpirate,” Michael growled threateningly. “If I’d known you idiots were about to take on the most powerful man in the city I’d never have come here.”

Gavin seemed unfazed as he rapped at the door and then shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was either oblivious to the danger he was in or idiot enough not to care.

“Oh, he doesn’t care about us. He has bigger enemies to take care of.”

“He very much does care and he is very much after _me_.”

“Why?”

“Why? I killed some of his fucking men saving _your_ crew’s necks, that’s why!”

Gavin’s eyes widened. Before he could reply, the door opened. Geoff barely got a chance to take them in before Michael was shouldering him aside and marching into the house.

“Hey!” Geoff yelled, but trailed after him along with Gavin as he marched into the sitting room.

Michael wasn’t sure why some part of him actually vaguely hoped to find them working on a solution to all this. Like they’d have laid out plans to deal with the Corpirate, or at least have some sort of safehouse to hide out from him in, or they’d at least be somewhat aware of the situation.

Nope.

Jack was lounging on the couch scrolling through Twitter, Jeremy was sitting next to him typing away at a laptop with a textbook open next to him, and Ryan was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing Xbox. There was an abandoned controller beside him where Geoff presumably got up. Michael saw red.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled. He marched over to the TV and switched it off, ignoring Ryan and Geoff’s pained yells. “Do you all just not fucking care that there’s probably the _actual_ best mercenary in the city after you all or what?”

“What the fuck was that for? We nearly had a high score!” Geoff protested.

“The Corpirate’s gonna fucking kill us all!”

“Geoff,” Gavin cried, tugging at his sleeve, “Can I borrow some money?”

“My contact back in Jersey just rang me to tell me he’s watching all the city’s fucking exits so I can’t get out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows it’s your crew behind this and comes after the rest of you too.”

“Geoff, Geoff,” Gavin said, when the other man just swatted at him and ignored him.

“Does anyone know another word for _conveys?”_ Jeremy called, not looking up from his screen.

“Calm down, Michael,” Jack said. He seemed to be the only one actually listening to him. “Do you want a drink?”

“I don’t want a fucking drink. Did you all even know he was after us?” Michael demanded.

“Sounds like he’s just after you,” Geoff commented, helpfully. Michael glared at him. “What! It’s true- Jesus, Gavin, can you stop fucking harassing me?”

Gavin’s hands were down his back pockets, digging for his wallet. Geoff’s attention now totally lost, Michael stared at them for a moment before turning to Jack again.

“I’m in this mess because I killed his men saving your ass. I didn’t have to come here to warn you today, but I did.”

“And we are very, very grateful,” Jack said pleasantly. “What is it you want, exactly?”

Honestly, Michael wasn’t not sure. An apology? Maybe a fucking _thank you_? He just sort of stood there spluttering, lost for words. 

“What’s your plan?” he demanded finally.

“Our plan? Nothing. Not the first time we’ve pissed someone in this city off,” Jack said. “Usually they either don’t know who we are or they don’t think we’re enough of a threat to bother with. We’ll be fine, Michael, don’t worry. Things always blow over eventually.”

He was so calm that Michael was genuinely confused. But he looked over at Ryan, and found him leaning over to turn the TV back on, and then at Geoff, who was telling Gavin off - and that’s when it hit him.

_They don’t realise how dangerous he is._

It made sense the second he realised. If these idiots’ previous incompetence was anything to go by, it was no wonder they didn’t actually know the scope of the Corpirate’s crimes. They hadn’t done any of their damn research, they probably just picked the biggest, shiniest building in the city without a damn care who it belonged to or who they were pissing off.

He opened his mouth, ready to lecture them all on just how deep the shit they were in was - but Jeremy was still groaning over whatever uni work he was doing, and Jack was staring at his phone again, and Geoff had now wrestled Gavin to the floor-

And when the sound of whatever game Ryan was playing started up again, Michael promptly gave up.

_Who fucking cares. What do I owe them? Not like they’d even listen to me anyway._

He marched into the kitchen and helped himself to a mug of coffee from the pot on the stove. No one seemed to care, and he sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out his phone to start apartment shopping. 

“I lent you money just last week,” he heard Geoff say in the other room.

“Yeah, but it ran _out,_ Geoffrey. That’s the thing about money, you have to spend it on, you know. Rent and food and shit. You promised me this heist would get us rich!”

“Well it didn’t make _any_ of us rich, so you’re shit out of luck, buddy.”

A pause.

“Jack, can I borrow some money?”

“I lent you some already, Gav.”

“Rye-bread, you got any spare change?”

“I get paid next week, Gavin. Ask me then.”

“Little J, can I borrow some money?”

“Gavin, I’m an arts student.” 

Michael flicked through his phone. The cheapest flats were in a shitty part of the city. His other jobs had paid well enough that he could afford something better, but he didn’t wanna draw attention to himself. Somewhere low-key, close enough to shops that he wouldn’t have to leave the place too often. When he heard footsteps trotting into the kitchen, he gritted his teeth, already anticipating what was coming.

“Michael.” Gavin plonked himself in the chair next to him and helped himself to what looked like a leftover plate of pizza someone had left lying on the table. “Michael, give a bloke a hand, would you?”

“I’m not lending you money,” Michael said without looking up.

“But _Michael_.” Gavin leaned in, closer and closer until his face was right in Michael’s and he was forced to glance up. Gavin had fascinating eyes, he couldn’t help but notice. Mostly green but with flecks of different colours. Still, he was a lot more attractive before Michael knew just how much of a fucking _dumbass_ he was. 

“Whatcha need it for?” Michael asked. He scooted his chair back but couldn’t help holding Gavin’s gaze, holding back a smile when Gavin gave a childish pout.

“Food and rent,” Gavin said.

“Get a fucking job.”

“I can’t!” He threw his hands up. “I’m an _illegal_ , Michael. I don’t have a proper bank account or a business number or anything. I help Jack and Geoff out now and then but it doesn’t pay the bills.”

“Sounds like you shouldn’t have robbed that convenience store. How’d you afford those sunglasses if you’re so broke?” He reached out and flicked them and Gavin flinched, going nearly cross-eyed as he watched Michael’s finger move.

“We weren’t lying about the first heist,” he said. “That one went so well. It was great. We held up a bank then escaped in speedboats. Got fifteen k each and I spent my entire cut on these sunnies. Worth it.”

“And then you never had another victory since.”  
  
“We get busy and distracted. Turns out heists are a lot of work. This was meant to be the big one, but I guess we just weren’t prepared enough.” He shrugged, peering up at Michael from under his lashes again. “So you see, I _had_ money at one point. We all did.”

“Yeah, ‘til you pissed it all away on that extravagance. Come back to me when you’ve sold those ridiculous things and still need cash.” He turned back to his phone, smirking at Gavin’s indignant squawk.

“I could never sell them! These have _sentimental value_.”

“Sentimental value ain’t gonna pay your rent.”

Gavin made a miserable noise of agreement and got up to raid the pantry. Michael rolled his eyes, but a moment later realised his annoyance had fizzled away, even if only for a moment, and there was a stupid smile on his lips.

_Idiots_ , he thought, _you’re all the reason I’m in this mess_. But somehow it was hard to stay angry, not when he could hear Geoff and Ryan yelling at each other over whatever game they were playing out there, not when none of them seemed remotely bothered by the fact that he’d essentially just made himself at home in their house.

It wasn’t worth holding a grudge. This’d all blow over in a few weeks and then he’d never have to see them again.

\---

Two days later, Gavin knocked on the door of Michael’s new apartment, nearly giving him a fucking heart attack because _no one was meant to know where he was staying, damn it_.

“Hi Michael!” he said, with a sheepish grin, completely unperturbed by Michael’s scowl and the precautionary gun pointed at him through the narrow sliver of door he’d opened. 

“The fuck do you want?”

“Any chance I can crash on your couch for a bit?”


	2. Chapter 2

“No,” Michael said, “Absolutely fucking not.”

He wasn’t even sure why he’d let Gavin into the flat. Now the other man was standing in the middle of his living room staring up at Michael with his big, stupid green eyes. He started to sit down on the couch, but Michael raised a hand to stop him.

“Nope,” he said, “Don’t you dare start getting comfortable.”

He was quite sure that the second Gavin sat down was the second it’d all be over; he’d entrench himself like some sort of malignant growth in Michael’s apartment and that would be that. He’d never be rid of him.

“But Michael,” Gavin protested, “I have nowhere to go.”

“I thought you lived with Ray.”

Gavin flapped a dismissive hand.

“Oh, that was _ages_ ago. Back before the crew got big.”

“You pulled one fucking heist two years ago and since then you just sit on your asses planning stuff. Don’t you dare say ‘got big’ like the Fakes are an actual thing,” Michael scoffed. “You’re just that. _Fakes_.”

“Yeah, well.” Gavin shrugged, smiling away. Like water off a duck’s fucking frosty-tipped back. “Ray moved to a new place a while ago so it was just me in the same flat. I had a few roommates now and then but they were all awful, so I’ve been covering the rent on my own, except I’m behind on the last few payments and so I got kicked out.” He hefted the duffle bag he’d brought with him. “So now I have nowhere to go and I just need a place to crash for a little bit before I pick up a job and get more.”

“What sort of job?” Michael demanded. “Thought you couldn’t work.”

“A criminal sort of job. Don’t need a damn visa for that. _Please_ , Michael, it’ll just be for a day. Well, maybe a couple days. A week at most. Two weeks for safety.”

Dear God, it was already _starting_. Michael rubbed his temples. Gavin made a sneaky attempt to sit down again and Michael grabbed his arm before he could.

“Why can’t you stay at the others’ house?”

Gavin’s face twisted. For the first time his brilliant smile disappeared. 

“Well, I was gonna, but I had a fight with Geoff and now I kinda don’t want to be around them.”

“What was the fight about?” Michael asked, but Gavin just pressed his lips together.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. And I can’t stay with Jeremy because he lives in student accommodation and already has a roommate. There’d be no room.”

“Ray, then - you said he has his own place now?”

“He already said no. He always gets cross when I ask him for stuff. He stopped lending me money or anything ages ago.” Gavin looked down, shuffling his feet, and Michael let go of his arm and turned away, taking a deep breath.  
  
He’d figured Ray and Gavin were tight from the way they behaved, but apparently not, if Gavin thought he had a better chance asking _Michael_ for help. Jesus, he barely knew the guy. Literally their only connection was that stupid failed heist and the fact that the Corpirate was after them - although the others apparently couldn’t care less about that.

Speaking of.

“How the hell did you find out where I live, anyway?” he demanded.

Gavin’s cheeky grin returned, if only a little.

“Wasn’t hard. I saw the fake name you use in your wallet when you were getting ready for the heist with us. Then I could easily track down the flat you’d bought. Hacker, remember?” Michael’s unimpressed look must’ve tipped him off to what he was thinking because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, if I hadn’t known the name already it’d have been pretty damn hard. You covered your tracks really well.”

“Good,” Michael muttered.

“So can I stay?”

“Hell no! Get out. This is _my_ secret hideout, and I’m hopefully not gonna be here that long anyway. I barely know you, I don’t want _anyone_ around who could compromise my position, and you’re not offering me shit in return. Come on. Vamoose.”

Gavin stared at him, looking rather hurt. When he didn’t move, Michael took him by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door. He stumbled along, wriggling and protesting.

“But Michael-”

“Nope!”

“You’re so mean!”

“I’m not a nice guy. You knew that when you hired me. No charity cases.” He managed to push Gavin out the door and the other man turned and tried to dart back in. Michael blocked the doorway with his body and laughed. “Seriously? What the fuck were you even planning to do?”

“But I’ve got nowhere to live! I’ll have to sleep on the park bench, Michael.”

“Better go claim a good one then.” Michael slammed the door in his face. Gavin hammered helplessly on it for a few minutes before falling silent, and Michael peered out the peephole in time to see his dejected figure stomping down the stairs, duffle trailing in his hand.

“Good fucking riddance,” he muttered, turning back to his apartment. Something too close to guilt sat heavily in his stomach, and he swallowed it down. Why the fuck should he feel bad? He barely knew Gavin, the Fakes had done shit-all for him (worse than, even) and he was hardly the sort of person who was inclined to help _anyone_ out of the kindness of his heart. 

"You're going soft, Jones," he muttered, but couldn't help wondering just where Gavin would go tonight. He swallowed it down and turned back to his laptop, looking for more consulting work he could do while he was still trapped in this shit hole of a city.

\---

As it turned out, Gavin did not go far at all.

Michael left the house for a supply run at the nearby grocery store. He was trudging back home holding armfuls of shopping bags, hood pulled up because the humidity had broken and it’d started fucking raining, when he found Gavin lurking outside his apartment building looking very miserable. Legit, he was just sitting on his bag by the front doors, arms wrapped around his head to protect himself from the rain.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Michael called out as he approached.

Gavin jolted, then looked up.

"I have nowhere to go," he said miserably.

"Don't sit outside the doors like a bag of trash." Michael reached his side and stared down at him. "Jesus, how long have you been here?"

Gavin shrugged, squinting up at him. Michael wondered just how bad his fight with Geoff must've been for him to not want to go to their house. Geoff hadn't seemed like the sort who'd leave him sitting on his ass in the rain, homeless and miserable, which left him to conclude it was Gavin's sheer stubbornness that was preventing him going to get help from his crew.

"You're soaked," he commented. Gavin's jacket had no hood and his hair was plastered to his head. It made him look smaller somehow, more vulnerable. "You gonna sit out here all night?"

"If I have to," Gavin said mournfully. "Need helping taking your groceries up?"

Michael sighed heavily. God help him, he shouldn't say yes to this. He really, really shouldn't-

But if the Corpirate came knocking, two people to fight him off would be better than one. Logically, it made sense to let Gavin in. Maybe he could learn more about the city, about who and what they were up against. It was a purely tactical decision.

"Fine," he snapped.

Gavin's face brightened and he reached for the shopping bags.

"I mean, fine, you can stay," Michael said - and Gavin froze in shock. Michael scowled, embarrassed by his own softness. "But if you can't pay me I'll want other services."

"What, like blowjobs or something?" Gavin asked, so casually that it took a moment for Michael to even register what he'd said. He choked and spluttered.

"What? Jesus, no! I wouldn't make you do that."

"I wouldn't mind," Gavin said, quite cheerfully, "You're an attractive bloke. Gotta warn you, I'm bad at them though. So I probably need the practice."

_Who the fuck is this guy,_ Michael could only wonder, and tried not to think about how hot his cheeks felt, how the mental image had flashed through his mind, albeit briefly.

"Housework," he corrected, "And information about the city."

"That's more boring, but I'm not complaining!" Gavin took the bags from him; their hands brushed as he did. His fingers were thin and cold. "Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate it. As soon as we pull our next heist I'll pay you back the rent!"

"I won't be holding my breath waiting for it," Michael muttered, but felt oddly fond as he rolled his eyes and opened the door to let them in out of the rain.

\---

And that was how Michael found himself with a roommate.

Really, the flat was far too small for two. Gavin set up on the couch and within twenty minutes his belongings had somehow spread across the entire living room like some sort of creeping sentient fungus; he promptly claimed the best spot in the kitchen cupboard to proudly display a mug with the Queen's face printed on it and full set up a little stand on which to display his sunglasses.

"Yeah, just make yourself right at home," Michael muttered, already beginning to regret this decision as he watched his place grow messier and messier with a sense of vague resignation. "Didn't I just ask you to make this place cleaner?"

"I'm making it _homely,_ Michael!" Gavin protested. "It's bare as a baboon's bottom. You haven't decorated or anything!"

"I moved in two fucking days ago!" he cried, and shoved Gavin's bag off the couch so he could fling himself down. "And I don't intend to stay all that long."

Gavin just hummed, flinging the curtains open and letting sunlight spill into the room. Michael hopped up and shut them immediately.

"What part of hideout do you not understand?" he hissed.

"Ohhh. The hide part. Forgot about that." Gavin put a finger to his lips and grinned. "I got it, I got it. Don't worry about me, Michael."

Michael rolled his eyes and stomped into the bedroom. Dear God, he hoped he wasn't going to regret this.

As it turned out, Gavin actually did stick to his word. When Michael emerged a little while later it was to find him hard at work cleaning the entire place - he'd dug up a dustpan and broom from somewhere and swept the kitchen floor, was now scrubbing the grimy old walls of the flat and dusting the bookshelves. Michael hadn't realised just how filthy everything was until he saw it actually clean; there was a stark difference and the place immediately felt nicer.

"We need a proper vacuum," he commented, sitting on the arm of the couch.

Gavin looked over at him and grinned, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. Hard work suited him; his face was flushed and eyes sparkling, and Michael felt abruptly very pleased that he'd let him in.

"I actually like cleaning. It's satisfying. My dream is to one day own a pressure washer."

"Oh man, I love those pressure washer photos. You did a good job," he added, with a scoff, "Guess you're useful for something after all."

Something close to hurt flickered over Gavin's face, and he put down the broom and folded his arms.

"What?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't exactly blow me away with your hacking skills on the heist."

"Rude," Gavin muttered, "Look, maybe we got a little over-ambitious with that one. I can do the basic stuff - enough to get by - but I'm still practicing."

"You shouldn't have been practicing on a job involving the most dangerous guy in the city," Michael chided, and Gavin clenched his jaw.

"Like you've never messed up before," he fired back - kitten had claws, apparently, and Michael was a bit surprised to see the genuinely annoyed look in his eyes. "And I bet the collateral of you making a mistake would be a lot worse than me."

Michael scowled. He couldn't help it - his mind flashed back to the job that'd gone wrong just before he left Jersey for AC. The ill-timed explosion, the screams, the blood. Gavin was right, he'd had his fair share of accidents, and they hadn't been pretty.

He didn't answer, but he was cross now, and loped into the kitchen to get a drink. When he turned around, glass in hand, Gavin was still standing there staring at him a bit apologetically. His anger seemed to have faded as suddenly as it'd come.

"Geoff said you looked me up," Michael said, abruptly, "That you were the one who found me to do this job."

Gavin nodded, shoulders relaxing a little.

"Yeah! We knew we needed a demolitions guy and you were the name that popped up a lot. You're practically famous, Michael," he cooed, with something too close to admiration in his voice.

"God, I hope not. Last thing I need are the cops knowing about me."

"I saw some of the jobs you worked on. They were big. The sort of stuff we wanna do. Except our ideas are always a lot more creative."

"At the expense of realism," Michael said, rolling his eyes, but he was mollified now, and headed back over to the couch. "Where'd Geoff dig you up, then? How long have you been in AC?"

"Just over a year now."

"Why'd you move from England?"

To his surprise, Gavin's face clouded over again.

"We all have our secrets, Michael," he said, and started cleaning again. Michael frowned, but didn't push it. He was hardly about to share his past, after all, and he supposed they barely knew each other.

Still - it'd been so easy to see Gavin as nothing other than a ditzy little blonde that it was interesting to realise he had depth, and a past, and secrets of his own. That was intriguing - although Michael was surprised by how much he didn't like the way Gavin's smile had vanished. It wasn't often in their business that anyone was naive, let alone _cheerful,_ and while some cynical part of him couldn't help thinking Gavin would never cut it in an actual crew, he couldn't deny it was refreshing - to see someone who hadn't been sullied by this job.

He wondered if Gavin had ever killed someone before.

Still. He sat, sipping his drink, watching Gavin clean, and when Gavin started piping up with another one of their ridiculous heist ideas he rolled his eyes and listened, fondly.

\---

Things settled into a comfortable sort of routine.

The Corpirate didn't come knocking, but Trevor also insisted that he was still on the hunt and watching the city's exits, so Michael was trapped for now.

He spent most of the day in his room working remotely on consulting jobs. Gavin usually wandered out somewhere and came back in the late afternoon. Michael wasn't sure where he got off to, but he sure wasn't working because he never seemed to have any money for groceries.

"Why don't you practice your hacking skills _now_ instead of when our lives actually depend on it?" he asked one day.

"I got no laptop Michael," Gavin said sadly, "I sold it."

"In cities like this there's always work to be found if you go looking," Michael pointed out. But Gavin just shrugged and Michael didn't push it - he actually was keeping the flat remarkably clean, so he could stay. For now, at least.

They got on each other's nerves a hell of a lot the first week. Michael blamed it on summer, which was rolling in with full force, tensions rising alongside the temperature. They fought over who should empty the bin, who'd used up all the hot water, whether the window should be open or shut - dirty shoes on the scuffed carpet, a broken mug in the sink. That smug look Gavin got, face all screwed up begging to be punched, when he thought he'd won an argument.

But there were other things, too.

Moments when Michael was startlingly glad not to be alone. He hadn't lived with someone in years, had few close friends and no serious relationships, and he hadn't registered until now quite how _lonely_ it all had been - how nice it was to have another human presence around.

Evenings spent lounging on the couch with Gavin, a shitty old fan rattling away in the corner struggling to send gasps of cool air over them as it rotated around the room. Watching the news and laughing together over the celebrity gossip, arguing over the opinionated anchors. Hearing Gavin's echoing voice singing in the shower, strains of the Beatles horribly out of key, only able to roll his eyes fondly.

He brought home ice creams one day when the humidity got too much to bear, and the way Gavin's eyes lit up when Michael offered him one made him feel warm in his chest. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. They sat together on the living room carpet, hands growing sticky as it melted, discussing stupid things like space and time travel and conspiracy theories. Gavin was clever when he wanted to be, though he said the most ridiculous things at times. The swell in his chest that Michael got when arguing with him felt too intense, too much like caring.

"Idiot," he said, too often. Gavin was never fazed.

"Join our crew," he always begged, whenever the conversation died down, and Michael rolled his eyes every time.

"No fucking way. You're only worsening my impression of the lot of you with your weird hypotheticals and logic." 

Still - it was nice to have someone to show stupid reddit posts to, to talk problems through with, to shout out to to bring him a cup of water or a coffee, to kick back and drink a beer with. He'd spent so long not trusting anyone that not having to fear Gavin - who he was quite sure he could break in half if it ever came to it - was something refreshing and new. He found that he rather liked it, even if the other man started hanging around him more during the daytimes, pestering him with questions about the online jobs he was consulting on. 

\---

Two nights later Michael was woken in the middle of the night by a loud crash, and screams.

He bolted upright in an instant, switching on the bedside lamp and snatching up the gun he kept on the table next to him. It was a humid night and summer hung over them like a sweaty blanket. 

"Michael?" he heard Gavin's voice call out from the living room, distant and uncertain. The wavering note in his voice made something close to protective rise in Michael's chest. He padded out to the living room just as Gavin switched the light on. The bedsheets on the couch were rumpled and he was only wearing a pair of boxers. Michael was too - it was too hot for anything else, in this flat with poor insulation and no air conditioning. 

"It came from out in the hall," Gavin whispered. His eyes flicked to the gun in Michael's hand, then up to his, wide and uncertain. Another crash, and they both jumped.

"Stay here," Michael barked, and moved to the door to investigate.

He crept out into the hall. He could hear bangs and thuds and then running footsteps coming from the flat next door to them. Closer investigation revealed the door had been kicked in. Just a common robbery, Michael imagined, or some private dispute - but a lurking unease hit him, that it might be the Corpirate, tracking him down, maybe an assassin who got the wrong apartment number somehow.

A footstep behind him made him spin around. Gavin stood there, wearing a t-shirt now, and brandishing a fucking frying pan.

"Jesus, go back in!" Michael hissed.

"I'm helping!"

"Like hell you are. Get your ass inside so I don't have to worry about you, too." 

Gavin bit his lip. Something odd crossed his face, but he did retreat back into the apartment. Michael turned back to the hall. He kept tabs on who his neighbours were, of course he did, and as far as he recalled the flat belonged to an older woman, single with a lot of cats. He headed cautiously into the darkness of her corridor just as a man bolted past him and out the door. He shoved Michael aside, oblivious to the gun.

"Hey!" Michael yelled, but the guy was already pelting down the stairs and Michael could tell from a glance it was a petty criminal, a thief or thug, not one of the Corpirate's. He sighed in relief and went back to Gavin, who was crouching behind the doorframe with the pan ready to strike.

"Just some two bit thief," he said.

"How's the neighbour?"

"I don't fucking know," Michael grunted.

"Michael!" Gavin chided. "She was screaming, she's just a little old lady. And she has _so_ many cats." Quite frankly, Michael was not sure what the cats had to do with anything. "Please go check on her."

Michael two weeks ago would've said _fuck no,_ it's none of his business. Now he found himself grudgingly nodding.

"God, you're a terrible criminal."

"Our crew doesn't run like that," Gavin said, oddly serious somehow. "We don't target innocents."

"So you're the merry fucking men. Just great." Despite his complaining, he did go back out, though he kept the gun carefully hidden.

It turned out their neighbour actually knew her attacker; she was sitting in the ruins of her bedroom crying but untouched when Michael arrived. An estranged nephew who knew about the valuable jewellery she kept in here, he'd broken in and threatened her but she was otherwise unharmed. Mentally cursing Gavin, Michael was forced to call the police for her, and felt very awkward as he sat, consoling her as she hugged him tightly and sobbed into his chest, too conscious of the gun at his belt and the blood on his own conscience.

"I just got questioned by the damn cops," he hissed, when the kerfuffle was over and he finally made his way back to his own flat. Gavin had made hot chocolate and there was a bottle of rum on the coffee table. It was a struggle to stay annoyed when he found himself endeared by the gesture. "Just about shit myself knowing I had a gun on me."

"This is America, Michael, and there was a thief just in the building. You'd have been allowed."

"Yeah, but it might've made them look me up. We're lucky that old bint knew who the guy was."

Gavin shot him a slightly disapproving look, but Michael was already distracted by pouring a generous serve of rum in his mug and downing it. Fucking hell, it was 3am. How had his life come to this?

"You did the right thing," Gavin murmured finally.

"Yeah? For once in my damn life," Michael grunted. He drained half the mug and when he looked up Gavin was staring at him. He looked dishevelled and tired, but he was smiling. "What?"

"Worried," Gavin said, and his grin widened, "You said you were worried about me."

It took Michael a moment to remember what he'd blurted out in the heat of the moment. Then his cheeks heated and he looked away, embarrassed.

"Yeah, cause I didn't want you to get yourself shot and then the fucking cops to start questioning who you are and what you're doing in my apartment. Don't let it go to your head," he snapped, but he must not have been terribly convincing, because Gavin's grin didn't fade even when Michael grumbled something about idiot Brits and took his cup off to his room.

\---

Still, he couldn't stop thinking about it - what Gavin had said. _Our crew doesn't run like that._

How long had it been since Michael started to notice how sickening the smell of blood was? It felt like he'd been drenched in it since he was a child - he'd never cared before. Was it the job where that one kid died, or where one of his oldest clients got done in, where six men stood too close to a bomb and the limbs and ribs were like scattered jigsaw pieces? At some point the nightmares had started, dreams of gunpowder and the smell of burning flesh.

_Our crew doesn't run like that._

_Our crew. The merry fucking men._

The flat still felt too small in the summer. Michael couldn't remember the last time he slept through the night without waking feeling sticky and feverish, drenched in his own sweat, the air cloying and hard to breathe. It was worse in the living room, and Gavin spent most of the days out of the flat. At Jeremy's or Ray's, most of the time when Michael asked. Looking for work otherwise.

He bought the computer from ebay on a whim and told himself it was only because it was so cheap and broken already. Ordered all the new parts and totally didn't relish the look on Gavin's face when the boxes arrived and he told him what was in them. They'd been living here almost a month at that point and Michael still didn't know nearly enough about him-

But his heart still fluttered too-fast at the way Gavin gasped, "Michael! You shouldn't have!" and threw his arms around him. He hugged him back, one armed, noting the warmth of the other man’s body and how Gavin's bony frame fit against his. 

They put the computer together as a team. Gavin surprisingly knew a lot about what he was doing, and Michael had done this as a hobby now and then. They bickered occasionally, but it was fun not doing it alone, and there was a sense of camaraderie to the challenge, the stifling room, the frequent pauses to drink iced lemon water and sit in front of the fan.

“You made up with Geoff yet?” Michael asked, at one point, as they sat sprawled on the couch taking yet another break. The heat felt like a thick doona but he still made no move to pull away from where Gavin’s knee was resting against his.

“Yeah,” Gavin replied vaguely, “I mean, sort of. Still don’t wanna be around him for a while. He keeps texting me but I’m ignoring him.”

“Must’ve been a big fight,” Michael offered. He was curious, but didn’t want to pry. 

“It wasn’t big, he just said something that hit close to home. I don’t think he even realised.” Gavin paused, bit his lip. Thought about it. Seemed to deem Michael worthy of trust. “It was about the heist. We were talking about how it went wrong and he was cross I messed up with the cameras, too. Said I was a useless piece of shit and if he hadn’t let me into the crew no one else would take me.”

“Brutal,” Michael muttered, and Gavin’s lips twitched.

“I mean, he’s not wrong. And it was in the heat of the moment, and I _know_ he doesn’t mean it. But I got… passed around a lot, as a kid. Neither of my parents wanted me after they split up, so I got shuffled between a lot of extended family. Then some stuff happened when I was older and I was in foster care for a bit. It’s nothing to do with the crew but the way he _said_ it…”

He trailed off. Michael could tell he was trying to put on a brave face, but the tremor in his voice gave him away. He wanted to reach out and touch Gavin, comfort him, but it was so unfamiliar to him that he couldn’t lift his hand.

“I get that,” he murmured finally, and Gavin’s green eyes snapped to his. He looked different, with the blonde washing out of his hair and a fuzz of stubble over his unshaven chin. Michael found he liked him better this way. “Never really had a home growing up, either.”

Something softened in Gavin’s face, and Michael couldn’t think of the last time he felt a connection to someone like this.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Gavin replied. “But when we get older we make our own.”

“Guess so.”

“Is New Jersey home?” Gavin asked, and Michael didn’t know what to say. He felt a familiar hot embarrassment just at being caught being vulnerable, immediately wanted to bring his walls up and lash out. But he swallowed it down instead.

“In a way,” he replied, “I’ve lived there my whole life.” But he didn’t _miss_ the place, not like he thought he would, not properly. What was keeping him there, except history? “How about you? You don’t miss England?”

“Not at all. Home is where people are who love you,” Gavin said, and looked down, feet tapping against each other, twisting almost childishly, “The crew’s here in AC. Since I met them everything’s been different. We made a lot of fun memories here. So this is home, now.”

Michael nodded. The intense longing in his chest startled him. Gavin was giving him a small smile and after a moment he smiled back, quite genuinely. That seemed to please Gavin; he grinned wider and even tapped Michael’s foot with his, a funnily intimate gesture.

“Guess I should make up with Geoff, though,” Gavin said eventually, “He didn’t know what he meant by it and he’s been really good to me.”

“You should tell him why you were so hurt,” Michael replied, “I think he’d like to know. I know I would.”

“Maybe,” Gavin said – then shook himself. “No, you’re right. I will. Thanks, Michael,” he added, something way too sincere in it, and Michael rose quickly to hide the way his cheeks heated.

\--- 

It seemed like Gavin took his advice, because he started hanging out with Geoff and the other ‘gents,’ as he called them, again. Michael had a brief moment of fear when he realised that meant Gavin might go and stay at their place – and then a moment of kicking himself because _why the fuck do you care, idiot_ – except it seemed the fact that there was now a computer at his place meant that Gavin wanted to stick around to start taking on little hacking jobs.

Still. He invited Michael over to one of their new “bloody awesome heist planning sessions, this one’s gonna be a big one Michael”, which he attended purely for the free beer and pizza because he had no intention of ever getting involved in one of their fiascos again.

The others seemed quite unfazed to see him still sticking around. They greeted him enthusiastically before falling into heist planning unlike anything Michael had witnessed before. 

Most of the times he was called into jobs when the details had already been mostly hashed out. Still, in all the planning sessions he’d seen so far people had been grim, overly serious, focused intently on the logistics of the job and making sure they got as big a cut as possible and avoided being screwed over. 

The Fakes didn’t seem to care at all. They gathered excitedly around a whiteboard where they drew a series of ridiculous diagrams, brainstormed so many stupid ideas that Michael immediately lost count of the number of times someone used the description “ _theatre_ ”, like the fucking aesthetics were the most important part of the damn heist, and overall talked over each other as they shot out increasingly bizarre and overambitious themes. 

Dear God, it’s like they were doing this for the _fun_ of it, and the fact that ‘casualties’ and ‘collateral’ seemed to be two genuine concerns that made them abandon a number of plans that actually sounded kinda workable made him roll his eyes – but smile.  

“All of this is fucking impossible,” he said, when Gavin wandered over to him halfway through the evening with his eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed from drinking. “Where are you guys even gonna _get_ a blimp?”

“Nothing’s impossible if you _believe_ , Michael.”

“Yeah? Try believing your way out of the police coming to shoot you down with jets,” Michael said, but laughed and ruffled Gavin’s hair even as he squawked indignantly. 

Still. It was a good evening, and entertaining for him to watch. The crew were clearly very close, constantly teasing each other, slapping each other on the back, roaring with laughter over everything people said. The way the money would be divided up if one of these heists did succeed was never even discussed. They were unlike anything Michael had ever seen before – utterly ridiculous, and not real criminals, but endearing in their own way. 

He was actually quite intrigued to see how they put this heist together, but the next time he and Gavin came around Geoff’s sharehouse for a ‘meeting’ he was surprised to see the whiteboard blank and no plans in sight.

“Wait, weren’t you guys putting a heist together?” he asked, confused, when instead everyone crammed onto the couch and turned on the Xbox.

“Oh, that,” Geoff said, and flapped a dismissive hand. “Too much work, we’ll continue it later.”

“Are you for real?”

“Come on, Michael.” Gavin tugged at his sleeve and pressed a controller into his hand. “I want you to be on my team.” 

Michael stared at them, aghast. He’d been rather excited to see how they were going to continue planning, but none of them seemed remotely interested in all the ideas they’d been tossing around last time. Still – he resigned himself to sitting there and playing with them and soon lost himself in the competitiveness of the game, in swearing at Gavin’s incompetence and laughing so hard he could barely think straight. It’d been a long time since he hung out with a group of friends and the others seemed to find his anger at the game – played up for laughs – highly entertaining. 

Still. It was no fucking wonder this lot's crew hadn't managed to make anything of themselves. Every single time he hung out with them after that it was the same deal; they'd get all excited about some big idea and then be too lazy to ever bother going through with it. Just a load of talk and hot air.

Michael wasn't complaining. Last thing they needed was more heat on them. At least their laziness was keeping them out of trouble, and while once he might've laughed, disgusted at how pathetic they were, now he found himself smiling and shaking his head with fond exasperation, trying not to think of how relieved he was that there wasn't going to be a robbery, more police chases, more people getting shot, more digging themselves in over their heads.

\---

The weather cooled down but the flat still seemed too small - small in a different way, now. 

Small like everywhere he turned he seemed to notice Gavin. Not that the other man was invading his personal space, not like that - more that he was overly aware of his presence in the next room. Of hearing him hum and sing absently as he cleaned, of the clicking of his keys as he typed, of catching a glimpse of his arm thrown over the back of the couch, or his blonde head popping up and down over the kitchen counter while he rummaged through the drawers. Small like his shoes at the door, his jacket slung over the back of a chair.

Michael had never been self-conscious. But he caught Gavin watching him sometimes - while he was working out in the limited floorspace of his bedroom, when he was leaving the shower with just a towel wrapped around his hips. It made him overly aware of the scars mapped out over his body, old burn marks and bullet wounds he'd never cared about before.

_"Michael,"_ Gavin gasped one day, when he walked into Michael's room and found him midway through changing his shirt.

"Hey!" Michael snapped - he was hardly some blushing maiden, but Gavin had startled him, and the way he was _staring.._. "Knock, maybe?"

"Michael, that's such a nerdy tattoo!" Ignoring his other comment, Gavin bounded forward, positively gleeful as he reached out to poke Michael's arm. "You like Zelda?"

"Yeah," Michael replied - gruffly at first, but he knew Gavin well enough by now that he wasn't embarrassed. "Love it. Favourite game when I was younger. It was an escape from a lot of the shit I was dealing with so it means a lot to me-"

He broke off, suddenly too aware of just how personal he was getting - but Gavin's eyes were wide and his fingers gently traced over Michael's arm, so light he had to fight down a shiver, all his hair suddenly standing on end and a funny tingling starting in his stomach. He missed the contact when Gavin finally drew his hand back.

Things changed after that, a barely perceptible shift between them. Michael had always known Gavin was attractive - hell, it was one of the first things he'd noticed about him, shallow as it was - now he couldn't seem to stop noticing it. How sweet he looked when he smiled, how green his eyes were, how tanned his bare skin was when he stood in the middle of the living room getting changed, when he fell asleep on the couch with one arm flung up over his head, when he stood sleepily in the kitchen in only a t-shirt and boxers.

_You like him,_ he thought early one morning when he'd just emerged from his room. Gavin was making tea in the kitchen and hadn't turned and noticed him yet, but in the morning light his hair, ruffled from sleep, looked like spun gold. 

He shook himself. It was hard to admit, it was dangerous, and it'd been so long since he met someone he cared about that he'd nearly forgotten how it felt - and just the thought was terrifying.

_You don't like him, you_ want _him. He's attractive, but as if the two of you go together. You're from totally different worlds. He's an idiot - an_ innocent _idiot - he has no idea what your life is like, the things you've done, the shit you're still going to do - don't get stupid ideas into your head._

\---

Still. 

Once the thought was there, it wouldn't properly leave, no matter how much he wanted it to.

Ray came over to their apartment for the first time a few days later. It was the first time anyone from the crew had visited, and Ray hadn't been at the last few gatherings that Michael had been to - probably, he thought wryly, off doing real jobs.

He was surprised to find something close to resentment building up in his chest at the way Gavin's face lit up at the sight of the other man, at how he flung his arms around him and pulled him close, chattering happily.

"Ray! We've had another fantastic idea - where've you been, by the way? Can you tell me now the job's over? How'd it go this time? Do you reckon you'll work with that guy again?"

They ended up curled on the couch together, Ray playing something on his nintendo, Gavin huddled up next to him and peering over his shoulder to watch as they talked in low voices, Ray telling him all about whatever job he'd apparently just been on. Michael watched from his doorway and told himself it wasn't jealousy that curled in his gut as he looked at how comfortably Gavin draped himself over his friend, at the happy lilt in his voice as he asked questions.

_He wouldn't want to hear yours_ , he thought, stomach twisting, _they're ugly things, violent things, full of fire and blood. Ray's distant from all that. Up on a roof, killing through the scope of a rifle. He’s detached from it._

He sulked in his room the whole evening and Gavin didn't even come to see where he was. It was silly to be resentful, he knew, and it wasn't like Gavin was ignoring him. But it wasn't rational.

"Michael," Gavin said over dinner that night - they'd taken to eating together around the tiny kitchen table. Once barren, the kitchen was filled now with bags of groceries, mugs that Gavin had nicked from Geoff's place, even a fucking fruit bowl, "You should stay in AC."

Michael looked up at him. Part of him, an ugly and jealous part, wanted Gavin to know he felt hurt and ignored, wanted Gavin to _want_ him to stay.

"Don't know," he said dismissively, "Whole aim of this has been to find a way to leave this shithole."

Gavin's eyes widened, shocked by his harshness.

"Well, you should stay if you want to. AC's not that bad when you get to know it. I love it here," he said, "And there's plenty of jobs for you to do once the Corpirate's not so cross with you-"

_Not so cross with you_ \- God, he was naive, like the guy would just fucking forgive and forget.

"-and you could join the crew. You get on so well with all of us."

Michael stared at him. His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. Once he might’ve been flattered but faintly amused because clearly, clearly their crew was going _nowhere_ and he was - not to toot his own horn - one of the best in the business. He was hardly about to drop the reputation he’d been building for a bunch of newbies who were so unmotivated that he’d probably never work again if he joined them.

By ‘join the crew’ he could only assume Gavin meant be like Ray - stay in the city and work but hang out with them, a crewmember by title only. And hell, maybe that worked for Ray. But Michael could see about five hundred different ways it might go wrong with _him_ \- old enemies emerging, or the others getting pulled into his chaos, or… God, it sent a chill down his spine just to think about it, but what if he fucked up again and this time it wasn’t some random mercs standing too close to a too-powerful bomb, but Ryan, or Jeremy, or _Gavin_?

It was easier to push him away, to spit, to mock. He leaned forward and laughed in Gavin’s face.

“Dude!” His own voice was too loud, too harsh, even to him. “Why the fuck would I want to join your crew? I’m an _actual_ criminal - you guys don’t do _anything_.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. Michael had teased him innumerable times before, but something was different here. A tension - his annoyance over Ray - his fear of how close he was starting to get - it had all built up into something he didn’t know what to do with. It came out differently, and something close to hurt flickered over Gavin’s face.

“So you’re definitely going back to Jersey?” he asked, voice small and faltering.

“Dunno. Guess so. More for me there than here.”

He said it without thinking, but the second Gavin flinched his stomach dropped. It wasn’t true, not at all - there was _nothing_ in Jersey calling him back except the past, except his own fear of what was happening here.

“Right,” Gavin murmured, and looked down, chewing his lip. After a moment he started picking at his food again, his head lowered and clearly not wanting to talk any more.

Michael felt a wave of guilt, but some stubbornness kept him from saying anything more. He’d hoped Gavin would try and convince him to stay, would reach out, would tell him he was _wanted_ here. That there was more to it than that. But he didn’t, and Michael bit his lip and started shovelling down his own food, hurt even if he’d caused this, annoyed - at both himself and Gavin.

\---

Things were tense after that, and even if it was his own fault, Michael didn't like it at all.

It wasn't even like Gavin was hostile towards him or anything - God, he was far too polite (and British) for that. Hell, he wasn't even passive aggressive. He was just quieter, subdued in a way that made Michael think he was angry with him. He didn't greet him jubilantly in the morning like he used to, didn't come to the doorway of his room to linger and pester him with questions about what he was doing, didn't badger him to go out drinking with them anymore.

It's not like Michael was putting in the effort either; he felt awkward suddenly, and when his few attempts to ask Gavin what he was up to were met with half-hearted responses, he soon gave up, embarrassed to be seen caring too much.

He didn't like it, and he didn't like himself for it, and he wanted to apologise-

But somehow that felt like admitting too much. A toxic machismo that kept him biting his tongue, refusing to meet Gavin's eyes, running over that night at dinner again and again in his head trying to figure out a version events that justified what he'd said. Failing.

It all boiled over one day after he'd come in from a grocery run. Usually he'd call out to see what Gavin was doing; now, in this uncertain stalemate, he entered in grudging silence and headed into the kitchen only to see the top of Gavin's blonde head pop up over the counter, nearly giving him a heart attack.

"Jesus fucking Christ, dude - what're you down on the floor for?"

"Don't be mad," Gavin said, nervously, "But I dropped a mug."

"What do I fucking care? They're Geoff's mugs. Just clean that shit up so neither of us ends up with glass embedded in our feet." He moved to put the bags away only to glance over and cringe. Gavin was picking each shard up with his hands and putting it on a pile on the counter.

"What the fuck, dude - sweep it into a plastic bag! Don't fucking put it on the surface we prepare food on! Are you trying to kill us?"

"Whoops," Gavin said. 

"I'll do it," Michael replied impatiently. "You're two seconds away from slicing yourself up-"

He moved to the cupboard where the dustpan was only for Gavin to lunge for it first.

"No, I got it-"

"You'll just make a bigger mess-"

"I said I got it, Michael, don't worry about it-"

"I said I'd do it! Just let me clean this up before it gets everywhere-"

"No!" The volume of Gavin's shout stopped him in his tracks; they froze, hands brushing slightly where they'd both grabbed the dustpan handle, and stared at each other. Gavin's were wide and he was breathing heavily. "Look, Michael, don't hassle yourself over it. I made the mess. I'll clean it up. That's why you let me stay here, isn't it?"

For the first time there was something snide in Gavin's voice. Something that made Michael pause and look at him. Gavin's jaw was clenched tightly and Michael's eyes narrowed.

"Why are you being a pissy little bitch?" he spat.

"I'm not," Gavin replied stiffly.

"You are. You've been ignoring me all week. What gives?"

"I'm not ignoring you," Gavin said, but it was clear from his voice that that'd been part of his intentions, at least. "I just don't want to bother you. With this or with anything. Since you're leaving soon, anyway."

_Leaving soon_. The words seemed to hang in the air between them, and Michael swallowed hard. Even the satisfaction of knowing that Gavin did care, that this did affect him, too, paled in comparison to how terrified he suddenly was - terrified at how much that struck him, how much even that simple reciprocation made him want to stay when he _knew_ it was a bad idea. A dangerous one. One that could get people hurt - and not just him. 

He forced himself to breathe.

"Seriously? You're gonna get your panties in a twist just because I said I didn't want to join your dumb crew?" _Stop it. Stop being so harsh. Why are you making things worse? Do you_ want _him to hate you?_ "Like dude. Grow up."

"It's not that."

_It's easier if he hates you._

"Then what the fuck is it?" he demanded. He stepped towards Gavin who stepped back, eyes widening. For the first time he looked almost wary of Michael - for the first time he seemed to really be comprehending what he was getting himself into, here.

_It's_ safer _if he hates you._

"Nothing." Gavin had backed up against the counter.

Michael was too, too, too aware of how close they were standing, of how his heart pounded, of how he was freaking out here in a way he hadn't wanted to. Of the treacherous broken glass in a pile next to them. But Gavin swallowed hard and looked up, met Michael's gaze, eyes blazing. 

"I just figured you didn't want anything to do with us. Since we're just a bunch of dumb idiots and all. We got you into this mess already, you must be sick of cleaning up after us."

"Don't get pissy just because I didn't want to stay. You're taking this too seriously," Michael spat.

"Oh no, it's perfectly understandable. You're like Ray, you're a real big tough guy, you don't wanna trouble yourself with people like us-"

"It's not fucking like that!" Michael stepped even closer and Gavin's breath hitched. He didn't look scared, just shocked, and Michael's fists clenched by his sides. "You're right, Gavin, you _are_ a bunch of idiots. You plan all these heists like it's something out of GT-fucking-A and you don't realise what you're actually messing with. This world that you want to be a part of? It's not pretty. It's not fucking exciting. It's filthy and ugly and violent and people get hurt."

"We know that-"

"No," he hissed, leaning in until their noses really touched, "You _don't_. You haven't seen the half of it. The shit that I've seen, that I've _done_ , would make your knees buckle. And your little crew? You think it's nice being part of this... this happy go lucky little family? It won't stay like that. Not if you succeed in what you're doing. Not when the money starts coming between people, and the body count starts adding up. People change when they really get into this business. You know why I'm not part of a gang yet? Hell, why Ray does freelance work too? Because crews get messy. They aren't family, they're just a pack of dogs with the same end-goal, and it's a dog eat dog world out there. I've trusted people before. It never ended well."

"We're not like that," Gavin whispered.

"No one's like that at first. It grows in people like a cancer. Hell, it's grown in me already. So maybe you should be a bit more careful who you extend these offers to."

He stared down at Gavin, breathing heavily. For all that the other man had been an open book before, in that moment he had no fucking idea what he was thinking, even as Gavin stared back at him, seemed to stare right down into the spotted depths of his soul. Michael turned to go and Gavin grabbed for his hand, managing to catch it in a light hold. Flinching, Michael threw his grip off before storming for the room, ignoring the startled little cry behind him.

_If he didn't hate you before, he will now. Let him see what you are. Let him see what always happens. It's a harsh lesson but he needs to learn it. It's better. Better like this._

Part of him wanted Gavin to come after him. But he didn't, and the silence after Michael stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him rang in his ears. If he shut his eyes he could almost imagine he was alone in the apartment just as he always had been back in Jersey - before jobs, and after them, and as he washed the blood down the drain. _Better like this._

Tomorrow, he thought, fuming, he'd make a plan to get out of this shithole. He'd call up Trevor and ask him for help if he had to. He'd leave the city under the cover of darkness. This had been fun at first, like a game, but it had all gone too far, he'd forgotten the stakes here. It was time to leave Gavin and Geoff and all the others behind. At the rate they were going they wouldn't last long, anyway. They'd get themselves in over their heads in shit or they'd by some miracle actually make it big only to fall apart on themselves.

People like them could never understand the true strength and sheer brutality it took to survive in this business. And Michael - fuming now, pulling the pillow over his head, hating the silence outside his door - Michael wasn't about to let himself fall for a beautiful lie again.

_Tomorrow I get the hell out of here._

\---

And then, of course, he and Gavin were kidnapped by the Corpirate in the dead of night.


	3. Chapter 3

**** Michael woke up with a splitting headache to find himself tied to a chair, aching all over, and with a very vague memory of what had happened to get him here.

"The fuck," was the first thing he mumbled, as he squinted around the room waiting for his vision to clear. His mouth tasted like shit and his head was pounding, the telltale signs of being chloroformed. He became dimly aware that his ribs ached and his face was sticky with dried blood. As he got his senses back he realised he was sitting in what looked like an derelict basement of some kind; harsh fluorescent lights, peeling whitewashed walls. Silent outside - no cars. A quiet part of town, then.

God, what had _happened?_

A slight groan rang out beside him. He turned to his left and froze as he noticed Gavin, slumped over and tied to an identical chair next to him. A thrill of fear ran down his spine - and it came flooding back, then.

They'd been asleep when the door to the apartment was kicked in. Michael had bolted upright, gun in hand as he heard yells and struggling from out in the living room. _Gavin,_ his first thought had been, panicked. Gavin was out there, asleep, defenceless-

And then three men in black masks burst into the bedroom. He'd fired at them, but not fast enough. One was already charging forward and dragging him out of the bed, wrenching the gun from his hand and delivering a furious beating before a cloth had been pressed over his nose and mouth. Someone would've reported the gunshots, surely, but not in time to stop them being taken away. And now here they were, bound at the wrists and ankles, disarmed and helpless.

It was the Corpirate. It had to be. He couldn't think who else would've done this. All his precautions and in the end it hadn't even fucking mattered. The fact that he was still alive was a miracle.

Alive - and captured. And Gavin here, too. 

_This isn't going to be pretty._

Michael wasn't often scared of much, but he'd seen enough tortures and interrogations that now his stomach dropped and his blood ran cold. He'd heard the stories of the Corpirate and what he did to people who crossed him. And this was actually pretty new to him - people didn't usually come after the explosions guy. He realised he was trembling, his heart pounding too fast as he tugged fruitlessly at his bonds. Beside him, Gavin groaned again.

"Michael?"

His voice was soft and far too vulnerable and the protective jolt in Michael's chest was somehow worse than his own fear. Gavin was here too - funny, innocent, soft little Gavin who hadn't been out in the field properly before, who wasn't used to this grim world, who didn't understand the violence he was dealing with here. And now he was tied up next to Michael and they were probably about to be horribly tortured and he didn't think he could deal with that. Hurt _him_ , sure. Hurt _Gavin_ \- he wouldn't be able to stand it, he knew that with a sudden certainty, one that chilled him to the bone.

This was why he didn't care for anyone in their business. This sickening, sinking feeling in his stomach, the goosebumps that raised over his entire body. Gavin looked too young sitting there in the chair in his boxers and old t-shirt, hair flopping over his face, sleepy-eyed and confused.

"Hey Gav," he heard himself say, voice far too gentle. Fight or not, he couldn't bring himself to be angry, not now, even if he was terrified. Instead he found himself slipping into a role he'd never played before: kind, reassuring, a _protector_. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit and confused." Gavin's eyes widened as he came back to himself a little. He tugged at his wrists, yelped when they pulled up against the ropes, and cast Michael a panicked look. "Michael, we're-"

"In a bit of a fucking fix, I'm getting that part loud and clear. Don't panic, okay?"

"But we-"

"Don't _panic._ " He ignored the sharp edge in his own voice and took a moment to pause, swallow, take a deep breath. "This isn't good, but we're still alive. Are you hurt or just groggy?"

"Just woozy." Gavin took a deep breath but even from here Michael could tell he was scared. His head was lowered and his eyes shut and he was breathing too quickly. He felt a sudden pang. It was a look he hadn't seen on Gavin before, and he didn't like it. "Michael, what'll we do?"

"We'll get out of this. I promise. I'll get us out of here."

"But how? We've got no weapons and we're tied up. No one knows we're gone. Who will come rescue us? Michael, we're _fucked,_ Michael."

"We're not fucked," Michael said, but looked around the room only to realise with distress that things were indeed looking particularly fucked-like. There were no fucking windows, no fucking doors except a heavy iron one at the top of a steep flight of fucking stairs. Underground as they were, there was no other way to escape. No makeshift fucking weapons they could possibly use, no sharp edges they could cut their fucking ropes on.

_Yeah, we're fucked,_ he thought, but like hell he was gonna say it out loud.

With an angry grunt, he started pulling and twisting at the ropes that bound his arms to the chair. They were tight, and seeing as he'd literally been snatched out of his bed, he was only wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and pyjama shorts. But he couldn't help it, as he pulled and pulled something close to panic rose in his own chest, even as the ropes cut into his wrists and they began to bleed.

Gavin gave a distressed cry.

"Michael, stop! It's not working."

"I don't see what the fuck else we can do-"

"You're hurting yourself!" Gavin yelled. He rocked forward on his own chair, sounding on the verge of tears, and Michael looked over at him. He was breathing heavily and his broken skin burned and bled, but he barely noticed it.

"You think this hurts?" he snapped. "This is nothing compared to the shit they're gonna do to us if they get in here and we're just sitting ducks! Haven't you heard about what the Corpirate does to his enemies! Jesus fucking Christ, we're _screwed-"_

“You just said we weren’t!”

Michael opened his mouth - but broke off as a muffled voice rang out from beyond the basement door. Both of them froze, heads snapping up to look. Footsteps approached, then the sound of a bolt sliding on the other side of the door.

"Keep your fucking mouth shut," Michael hissed, looking over at Gavin. "I mean it. Let me handle this."

Gavin nodded, mutely. The colour had drained from his face, and the urge rose in Michael to reach out and take his hand, but he came up short against the ropes, and kicked himself a moment later. 

_This is why you shouldn't get close to anyone_ , he thought crossly. It was bad enough having himself in danger. He didn't know what he'd do if they came in here and threatened Gavin.

Naturally, the next thing they did was come in there and threaten Gavin.

The metal door banged open and three large men strode in. One was clearly the leader, a scarred, bald fellow with bad teeth and an ugly leer on his face - the other two big guys who hung back in the way that cronies typically did; looming and threatening but quite obviously just here to back him up. Still - they all had guns and knives hanging at their belts and Michael was pretty sure he couldn't take any one of them in a fight, not on his own like this. Despite being bald, the guy was also quite clearly not the Corpirate. For one, he had two eyes.

"Glad you're awake," the bald man sneered, marching forward. One of his scars was a thick line snaking all the way around his neck, like someone had slit his throat but somehow failed to kill him. His voice was a gravelly rasp. There was something deeply unsettling about it. "Michael Jones."

"That's my name. Who the fuck are you?" Michael spat.

"Travis Eltnam. Bounty hunter - and you've got a hell of a price on your head," he spat. "The Corpirate's already been informed that you’re here. He wants to kill you himself, and he's gonna make it slow. You've made me a very rich man."

Michael didn't know what to say, because quite frankly this wasn't a situation he'd been in before, and he didn’t know what the captured-and-about-to-be-fucked-up protocol was. How far he could push the banter without actually pissing the guy off enough to make things worse. At the same time his pride made him want to spit square in his face - but he refrained, barely. 

Gavin was listening to him, for once in his damn life, and hadn't said a word - but the guy still turned to him. Michael stiffened as he watched the man's beady eyes rake him up and down.

"As for you," he began, and Michael blurted out before he could stop himself:

"You don't want anything to do with him. He knows fuck all about what happened. He wasn't even there the night of the heist. I was the one who killed the Corpirate's guards."

"You can't manipulate me into protecting your little boyfriend," Travis laughed, cruelly. Michael was too shocked to correct him, too scared as he stepped towards Gavin, who gazed up at him fearfully. "And you can't fool me either. I know he runs with that ridiculous group - the Fakes, is it? - who've been causing trouble around the city. Bunch of idiots who've got no fucking idea what sort of hornet's nest they were kicking. You shouldn't have messed with the Corpirate," he said, leaning in close, hands resting on the arms of Gavin's chair. Gavin stared at him, still not speaking yet. "I know there are more of you. I want to know who, and where your base is."

Dear God. This was worse than Michael had expected. He bit his tongue, struggling against the ropes again, desperate to get them out of this.

He hadn't anticipated it was _Gavin_ they'd want to question. Hell, the FAHC were so small and pathetic he hadn't realised anyone would even care to know about them. This was the sort of shit that happened to big name crews, to the people who really got themselves deep into gang warfare. Not a bunch of weed dealers and college students who planned heists for fun.

And he knew how this would go.

Gavin would sell out the others and then they'd kill him, because he was no use to them anymore, and then they'd hunt down the rest of the Fakes and they'd all end up decomposing at the bottom of the river. It wasn't like he'd be able to hold out on whatever torture was in store for them. Hell, it wasn't like he'd _want_ to try and hold out. Michael had seen people roll over for the police, for the next big name that came along, for thirty pieces of fucking silver. Loyalty was rare in their business. 

It was all fucking over.

But Gavin squared his jaw and stared the man in the eye.

"I'm not telling you a thing," he said. His voice was shaking horribly and it didn't sound very convincing. Michael grit his teeth and looked away, hating the sickening sound of the bounty hunter's chuckle.

"That's cute," Travis said, "But yeah, you are."

He pulled the knife from his belt and Michael's eyes widened.

"Wait!" he cried, and they all turned to him expectantly. "I told you, he doesn't know a damn thing! He's not involved with the Fakes, he doesn't work with us, he doesn't know anything. _I_ do. I'm the one who-"

"You're from Jersey and you arrived in AC the day of the damn heist. We've done our research. Not sure why you wanna protect him," Travis added, with a cruel twist of his lips, "But I'm not gonna trust a damn thing out of your mouth, Jones. You could just as easily be feeding us lies."

"It's fine, Michael," Gavin said softly. Michael turned to him and for a moment their eyes met. He could see just how fucking terrified Gavin was, but for some reason there was something in his face, something resolute that suddenly made him look much older, much more mature. Not just a silly kid anymore, but someone who knew exactly what he was doing. It made Michael falter, just for a moment - and that was long enough for Travis to move forward and punch Gavin across the face.

He let out a startled cry, and Michael stiffened in his seat. He turned away, but in the corner of his eye he saw the man grab Gavin by the hair and hit him again - and again. Gavin's yelps of pain made his heart clench and he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, unable to watch.

_Useless_. That was the worst part, being forced to sit there helplessly while it happened right next to him, listening to the fleshy thuds, the grunts of pain.

"Come on," Travis kept saying. "Just give us some names and an address. It's not that fucking hard." 

Michael felt the other two men walk past him. There was a thud and he opened his eyes in time to see Gavin being hauled from the chair, ropes cut, and thrown to the ground - only for more blows and kicks to rain down on him, barely giving him a chance to sit up before he was knocked back to the floor.

He looked away, feeling sick, fists clenched and trembling. He kept waiting for Gavin to say something - for it all to be over, for the others to be thrown under the bus. Hell, part of him _wanted_ him to, if only so the beating would stop. But he didn't. Gavin was silent save for his grunts and groans of pain.

"Who do you work for?" Travis snarled. "Where are they? You give us some names and we might even let you live."

"Go fuck yourself," he thought he heard Gavin mumble; it was hard to tell, and it broke off into a choked noise like one of them had grabbed his throat.

"Who was the sniper?"

No answer - just another vicious blow that made Gavin let out a gargled cry of pain. Michael felt something wet on his face and realised there were tears leaking through his clenched eyes.

He hadn’t realised until now, seeing Gavin get hurt, just how much he cared. And it wasn’t just that - it was the stifled whimpers, the silence, the fact that Gavin _wasn’t_ talking. Michael had liked him before, on a surface level - had thought him attractive and funny and sweet. But now he saw him as something else, something deeper.

_Loyal_.

The crew weren’t just a ragtag bunch of friends in over their heads - they were something else, something devoted to one another. Something that’d take a beating and keep their mouths shut just to protect each other.

Finally the sounds next to him stopped. Michael paused and looked up, and found that the men were stepping back. Travis had pulled his phone out and was staring intently at the screen - saved, it seemed, by the interruption of a message. 

Gavin lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, curled in on himself. Michael couldn’t see the extent of his injuries, but there was blood splattered on the floor around him. His heart clenched, but he forced himself to sit still, waiting to see how this played out.

"Damn it," Travis muttered, "Gotta go deal with this. The Corpirate wants us to bring them to him. We'll leave in an hour or so. Get the truck ready."

His lackeys nodded. The three of them trooped back up the stairs without so much as looking back, the door slamming behind them. There was a tense silence as Michael waited for a moment to see if they'd return - but when nothing happened he slumped back in his seat, satisfied they were gone - at least for now.

"Gavin," he urged, leaning forward as far as he could. "You alright?"

Gavin let out a weak groan. Apparently they hadn't thought him enough of a threat to tie him up again; he uncurled, pausing every now and then to hiss in pain. Michael winced in sympathy. His face was swollen and there was blood dripping from his nose and mouth. One arm moved around his chest to cradle his ribs and he was sucking in aborted little breaths in a way that made it pretty clear something was cracked, if not totally broken.

"That wasn't fun," he managed, and Michael gave a hysterical sort of laugh. Adrenaline was thrumming through his veins and he felt shaky in a way that made him feel weaker than he had in a long, long time. But the sheer relief at hearing Gavin talk made him think that maybe they could still get out of this.

"They didn't tie you up again. If we're leaving in an hour we gotta get out of here before then."

"How? The door's locked."

"I didn't hear them bolt it. They left in such a rush, maybe they forgot." It would be a hell of a coincidence but then again, that lot hadn't exactly seemed like first class criminals. "You need to get me untied."

"I have nothing to cut the ropes with."

"Just undo the fucking knots, dude." He pulled at them again, twisting to see. "They don't look that complicated."

Gavin struggled to his feet only to crumple immediately with a groan. Michael bit back a yell, pained at the way Gavin's face twisted. But he bit his lip and struggled upright again, stumbling over to Michael's chair and kneeling beside him.

"You okay?" Michael whispered. It came out too softly but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Hurts," Gavin whimpered.

"You were so brave. You didn't sell them out." Maybe he sounded just a bit too incredulous, because Gavin's eyes snapped to him sharply and for a moment there was an almost indignant look on his face. 

"Of course not. They're my family. I wasn't about to put them all in danger. I know you don't think much of us," he said, and the sharp edge in his voice reminded Michael abruptly of the argument they'd had before this. "But we care about each other. We have that, even if we don't have the money or... or the guns or the skills. That matters, too."

About twenty snarky comments came to mind, but they tasted bitter, and Michael swallowed them all. 

"Of course," he said. "You're right. And I... I admire that. But we can talk about it later. Let's get the hell out of here first, yeah?"

Gavin nodded. His anger melted away and Michael could see he was still exhausted and scared. He bit back his own fear, determined instead to get them both out of here. To not let any of those men lay so much as a finger on Gavin again.

Gavin reached out and began working on the knots binding Michael to the chair. It was cheap rope and the guys had apparently decided a lot of subpart knots worked just as well as one single effective one. It took a bit of work and using his teeth at one point, but Gavin pulled them loose and Michael's hand was free. With two of them able to help out they made quick work of the others and within ten minutes he was springing up from the chair and reaching to pull Gavin upright.

"Let me check on you," he said quietly, hands running over him in concern. Maybe there was something too tender about the way his fingers stroked gently over Gavin's bruised face, but the other man didn't comment, just hissed a little when Michael touched the worst of the injuries. Michael pressed at his ribs and he gasped, flinching away.

"Ow! Dude."

"Can you walk?"

"Slowly, I think." He took a few steps and then reached out for Michael, wobbling and clutching his chest again. “Oh wait. I lied. No, I can’t.”

Michael caught him and dragged one of the chairs forward. He eased him down into it.

"Stay here," he ordered. "I'm gonna go deal with them."

"What?" Gavin's eyes widened. "I thought we were gonna, like, sneak out. _Hitman_ style."

"If they've left, sure, but I don't think they have. I gotta figure out where we are and what we're dealing with. We might need to fight our way out of this and we can't do that if you can barely move. Don't worry," he added, at the look on Gavin's face, "I've gotten out of shit like this before."

That was a blatant lie, but Gavin didn’t need to know that.

"But Michael, you have no weapon. It's just one of you, and who knows how many others are out there! What are you even going to do?"

"Whatever I have to," Michael said, grimly. He grabbed the length of rope that'd been used to tie him to the chair, and made for the stairs.

"Michael!" Gavin caught his hand and Michael turned back to him. On impulse, he crouched before the other man and reached out to touch his cheek; it was too intimate a motion, and he felt Gavin shiver under his touch.

"It's okay," he murmured, "I'll be fine, I promise. I'm gonna get us out of here."

"Be careful," Gavin whispered, and Michael nodded. He rose and turned, jogging up the stairs and pausing with his ear to the door. He couldn't hear anyone on the other side and cautiously tested the handle. As he'd expected, it wasn't locked and he eased it open, careful of the loud creak.

It seemed they were in some sort of shabby little safe house. The door opened into a space under a rotting stairwell. He could hear men's voices elsewhere in the house, speaking with that particular overly loud cadence that came with talking on the phone. It was morning by now - or nearly - and in the dim grey light of dawn he managed to stick to the shadows and slip his way towards the nearest doorway.

One of the lackeys was sitting at the kitchen table, texting, his back to the door. Heart pounding, Michael moved forward as quietly as possible and then lunged forward and pulled the rope taut around the man's neck, twisting it tight and cutting his air off. He barely had time to let out a wheezy cry before Michael had completely cut off any chance of drawing breath or voice. He struggled, hands grappling uselessly at Michael's wrists, but sitting down as he was, Michael had the advantage. He gritted his teeth as he pulled, harder and harder, until the man's face reddened then purpled before his bulging eyes finally slipped shut and he went limp. It felt like it took forever but it must only have been a few minutes. Michael's arms ached when he let him go, easing the body to the floor.

Killing up close like this, with his bare hands... it wasn't what he usually did, but he didn't feel the lurking guilt that he'd expected. Not after what these people had done, not when he thought of Gavin, bruised and battered down in the basement, and knew exactly who and what he was doing this for.

He crouched and took the man's gun and marched out into the next room. Travis was on the phone but he barely had time to turn before Michael shot him, a single neat bullet hole between the eyes that had him crumpling to the ground nearly too fast for Michael to relish the surprise on his face.

The last lackey was out in the garage, and Michael took him out quickly. He swept the house, found no others, and rushed down to the basement. Gavin jumped when the door opened, but looked relieved when he realised it was Michael.

"Come on!" Michael rushed to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and easing him upright. "Let's get the fuck out of here before their friends show up."

"Michael, what'd you do? I heard gunshots."

"I took care of them," he said, ominously. He hesitated, waiting for a look of disgust, or fear - but Gavin seemed surprisingly calm as he nodded, wrapping his arm around Michael's shoulders and leaning on him.

"You're okay?" was his only question.

“They didn’t touch me.”

His face itched with dried blood, but it was all from the beating he'd taken before, back at the house, and he saw Gavin's eyes trail over him, noting the gun clutched in Michael's other hand, before he nodded. 

"Okay. Let's get out of here then." 

Michael's arm stayed tightly around his waist as they slowly headed up the stairs. When they passed through the garage, he saw Gavin look at the body slumped on the floor in a spreading pool of blood - but he didn't comment, and his face didn't crumple in disgust the way Michael was fearing, and they moved on together.

\---

It was a blazing hot morning by the time they got back to the apartment. By this point the adrenaline had faded and all Michael could focus on was the pain of his scrapes and bruises. Gavin seemed the same; slumped in his seat, neither of them spoke much, falling instead into an exhausted silence.

"Jesus, did he have to do such a number on our door?" Michael grunted, when they got upstairs to see it kicked in. "No sign of any cops. Guess our neighbour doesn't fucking care as much to come check on us when we're in trouble."

"You make a disappointing point," Gavin murmured, as Michael helped him inside and lowered him onto the couch, only to slump next to him, exhausted just from the effort of going up the stairs. In a minute, they'd patch each other up. In a minute.

For now, he sat, catching his breath and taking in the fucking disaster zone that was their flat. Apparently not content with abducting them, it seemed Travis and his goons had seen fit to just trash the whole fucking place. There was broken glass all over the carpet, the bin bags had been ripped and strewn across the kitchen floor, and there was a huge slash down the middle of the couch, oozing stuffing which Michael picked absently at now. The pot plant that Gavin had brought home some time ago lay dead on the floor in a scattered pile of dirt and shattered ceramic pot. Their eyes fell on it at the same time.

"Poor Rodney Rhododendron," Gavin said, sadly. "God, they really fucked up the place, didn't they?"

"Assholes," Michael muttered. He pulled a long string of stuffing from the couch before heaving himself up with a groan and going to get the first aid kit.

When he returned to the living room, Gavin was on his hands and knees on the floor, picking up Rodney. Michael crouched next to him and touched his shoulder lightly.

"Hey," he said. "Leave it. We'll deal with all of this later."

Gavin looked up at him, eyes wide. He seemed oddly subdued, and Michael hoped he wasn't going into shock.

"Is this the first time something like this has happened?" he asked, as he took Gavin's hand and led him back to the couch, motioning for him to pull his shirt off.

Gavin winced as moving tugged at his injuries.

"To the crew? Yeah. We've been in trouble with the cops a couple times but not with other gangs. Definitely not like this. But not my first time getting the shit kicked out of me."

The hot flush of anger that washed over him surprised Michael. He focused on wiping the blood gently from Gavin's face. His lip was split, but his nose wasn't broken, and he closed his eyes as Michael gently sponged the dried blood away before smoothing some ointment over a cut just below one eye.

"That sucks. But you held out," he said, "That's something to be proud of."

"Were you scared?" Gavin asked.

Michael froze. Instinct told him not to look weak - but Gavin's eyes were still shut, and in the daylight it was easier to feel like the city outside these walls wasn't a rabid beast just waiting to consume them, and somewhere along the line this apartment had stopped just being a temporary shelter and had started to feel like a home, _their_ home, to the point that now the chaos around them felt like a violation. Who cared about a broken plant? But it was a plant Gavin had named, one that Michael had heard him talking to each morning as he watered it and opened the shutters to give it sunlight, one that had made the place feel a little more lived in.

"I was scared," he murmured. "And I hated that I couldn't do a fucking thing but sit there and watch them hurt you."

Gavin's eyes opened, and met his. Michael couldn't look away.

"You were tied up, though," was his rather senseless comment.

"I mean, that's the fucking point," Michael said, with a hysterical sort of laugh. "If I'd been free I would've knocked their fucking teeth out."

Gavin stared at him. Then he broke out into a little grin, only for his split lip to make blood run down his chin.  

"Ow," he squeaked, and Michael rolled his eyes and got back to patching up his wounds, trying to fight his smile. 

"You should call Geoff," he said as he bandaged him up. "It's not safe for you to stay here anymore. Plus all of you should be on the look out now that we're certain the Corpirate's after all of us."

"I guess so," Gavin agreed, but he didn't sound enthusiastic about it.

"What's the hang up?"

"It just seems a bit embarrassing," Gavin said, eyes downcast. When Michael gave him an incredulous look, he shrugged, shoulders hunching up. "Being captured, being beaten up. I know it wasn't our fault. I just - don't want to look weak."

"You can't hide this."

"They'll be fine for now. I'll tell them tomorrow." 

"It's not just that." He'd bandaged Gavin's ribs by now and he could tell the other man was shaky. "You should have someone here, after what happened. Someone you trust who can help you out. Being caught like that was fucking terrifying. It can hit you later on. That's not something to be embarrassed about, either."

"I trust _you,"_ Gavin whispered. "Can't it just be the two of us for now?"

Michael stared at him. Usually Gavin wore his heart on his sleeve, but here and now there was something far too vulnerable in his voice - something that made Michael pause.

"Okay," he heard himself say, and it was worth it for the way Gavin's face softened. Michael sighed as he heaved himself up and pulled his own shirt up. His nose was broken and he'd taped it up in the bathroom earlier. The rest of him was just bruised, and he wanted to ice it.

"Let's hope they didn't clear out our freezer."

"Or our bevs cupboard," Gavin said, and Michael laughed louder.

"Oh my God, I need the world's strongest drink right now. Hell, I think we both do. I don't even care that it's way too fucking early in the morning. They better not have touched my vodka."

\---

As it turned out, they had not touched his vodka, and the two of them proceeded to get ragingly drunk at nine in the damn morning.

To be fair, they had no painkillers in the house and it took away the dull ache of his injuries. They sat, sprawled on the carpet in the midst of the clumsily cleaned havoc. Gavin had swept the remnants of Rodney to one side and Michael had made a half-hearted attempt at kicking all the glass pieces under the sofa. Now bottles and glasses surrounded them in a circle. Gavin was lying on his back with a pillow propped up under his torso, having wrangled himself into a position from which he could both ease the pressure on his ribs and drink without choking on every mouthful. Michael reclined beside him, using the first-aid kit as a pillow.

"Anyone who has a pun as a name shouldn't be terrifying," Michael was arguing. Now under the influence, they'd ceased worrying about their situation and were finding as much humour as possible in it. "Corpirate? Seriously?"

"It's his damn number plate!" Gavin said, and laughed so hard he started crying. "Oh God. It hurts."

"Then stop, you idiot."

"I can't!"

"Drink more." Michael thrust another bottle at him and their hands touched. Gavin's cheeks turned red and he busied himself pouring another glass. "What?"

"What?" Gavin's eyes went wide, glancing up at him. "Nothing."

"You got all shy." If he was sober he'd never have pointed it out. Now he found himself fixated on the flush that crossed Gavin's bruised cheeks, on how piercingly green his eyes looked between the swelling, on how he was wearing one of Michael's t-shirts - his own were covered in dirt as they'd been the most accessible for Travis' goons to strew around the room - and it hung in loose folds over his shoulders.

"I did not," Gavin said, very crossly. 

Michael stuck his tongue out, and Gavin laughed again, face crinkling up as he wrapped his arms around himself. They fell into a comfortable silence. Michael's head was swimming pleasantly, and the buzz of the alcohol had dulled the pain of his wounds. He felt sleepy and content, blissfully able to ignore the danger that lurked beyond these walls.

Sunlight slanted through the window, in stripes through the blinds that looked like jail bars as the light washed over Gavin's face. He stretched - gingerly, mindful of his ribs - like a cat, the bruises on his face washed out like watercolour. His golden skin looked warm and Michael suddenly wanted to reach out and touch him. 

"You were so brave," he said again. The alcohol made it easy for the words to slip out before he could really properly register he was saying them. "I mean it. Most people wouldn't have held out like you did."

"Our crew isn't most people," Gavin murmured back. He was staring just past Michael's face, thoughtfully, but Michael didn't mind. It gave him free reign to let his own gaze wander without Gavin noticing what he was staring at. "But thanks, Michael. It wasn't that bad. It's not like they started chopping bits off me or anything."

Michael’s blood ran cold and for a moment he felt very, very sober.

"Don't say that." He already knew he'd have nightmares tonight and he couldn't stand the thought of what might've happened if the men hadn't been interrupted, if they hadn't gotten out, if they hadn't decided to start relatively light. "Jesus, I don't even wanna think about it."

"Me either." A little frown creased Gavin's face, and this time Michael did reach out and touch him. From where he was lying his fingers could only just brush against the other man's ankle. 

"It's okay. You're okay now. But Gavin, I... I didn't mean what I said before." At the other man's blank look, he added, "Our fight in the kitchen? I was being an ass because I was scared."

"Scared? What would you have to be scared of?"

"I've worked alone for a long time." Maybe it wa the drink, maybe it was how what just happened to them was the worst sort of bonding experience, but it was easier than he'd expected to open up. "When I was younger, just about everyone I met was just trying to use me to get something they wanted. The first time I joined a gang, the cops came down on us and everyone sold each other out. I managed to get out of there, but since then I've seen it happen again and again. Loyalty doesn't mean shit to most people when it really comes down to it. When you asked me to join the Fakes, I knew it would just happen again."

"It wouldn't, though."

"It's not just you guys I was scared of. It was _me._ Because I'm not like the rest of you, and I was worried I'd contaminate what you have. Or put you danger. Or if the heists started getting real then the ugly side of things would come with it, too. I've had jobs go wrong and sometimes it was my fault. All of you are so... so _different_ to what I'm used to. I didn't want to get any of you hurt."

Gavin's eyes were wide.

"But I see you're not like that now," Michael said, and looked away. "I didn't mean it when I said there was nothing for me here in AC. There's ten times more than anything back home..."

He trailed off, a little awkward, and Gavin bit his lip. A moment later he shuffled closer to Michael until he was lying next to him on the cushions and touched his shoulder, tentatively. His fingers trailed down his arm and then took his hand, head bending to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

"Back there," he whispered, "I wasn't as scared as I would've been if they'd grabbed me on my own. It was easier to be brave when you were there, too. Plus I knew that with you there we actually had a chance to get out of it. If I'd been on my own no one would've come save me."

"Not even Ray?" Michael couldn't help asking - despite himself he was still faintly salty about the whole situation. But Gavin just scoffed out a laugh.

"Ray's great. He was my first proper friend and helped me a lot when I first came to the city. But he doesn't keep tabs on us the way you probably think. And I know he'll never join the crew full time. He's not really a team player." 

"Neither am I," Michael murmured, but Gavin squeezed his hand.

"Still, you took care of me. So thanks, for that." He hesitated, then added, "The other guys are great. They're like my brothers. But not a lot of people ever really looked out for me. You've done more than you ever had to. I do appreciate it. You're a better man than you give yourself credit for, Michael."

Michael looked up, and their eyes met. At the angle they were lying their faces were too close, and Michael was aware of the warmth of Gavin’s body, of how his fingers slotted perfectly into Michael’s, of every different coloured fleck in his eyes. He tilted his head forward just as Gavin did and felt the other man's breath against his lips. It would be so easy to close the distance between them - so easy. Too easy. For a moment his heart raced, a tingling shiver ran through his entire body, and he really thought that he was going to do it-

But the moment passed; Gavin looked away shyly and Michael lost his nerve. He abruptly stumbled to his feet, swaying.

"Back in a second," he grunted, and made his way into the bathroom. It was only once the door was shut behind him and he was alone in the cool air that he felt like he could breathe again. Every inch of his skin felt too sensitive and his stomach was thrumming with butterflies, his heart racing like he'd just run a marathon. He leaned against the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed and it wasn't just from the alcohol. The bathroom was dark and the tiles cold under his feet and the chill against his skin cleared his head.

This wasn't just a crush.

It was no brief infatuation, no mere attraction. Otherwise he'd've fucked Gavin weeks ago and been over with it. No, this was something else - something deeper-

Something that should have been terrifying, but that, after everything that had happened today, he knew he couldn't bring himself to give up.


	4. Chapter 4

Here was the problem: they were friends.

If they weren't, this would be easy. Michael would make a move, no problem - would tell Gavin just how damn interested he was and take him out to dinner somewhere and probably make out a lot in the backseat of his car. Sure, he hadn't been out on a proper date in months - if not years by this point - but he knew what he was doing. There was a routine to it. The hard part was asking someone out in the first place.

And it was even damn harder when there was something to lose.

Because he'd always been confident, but around Gavin he suddenly found himself at a loss for words, and too-aware of how he looked and everything he did, and he couldn't help thinking that if he made a move and it turned out Gavin wasn't interested, everything would be ruined. He wouldn't be able to look him in the eye, and he'd've made a fucking fool of himself, and everything they'd built up so far would come tumbling down.

It left them in an odd limbo.

He couldn't tell if Gavin was into him. Thing was, the other man had been so weirdly, casually flirty at the start of their acquaintance that now Michael had no damn idea what was real or what wasn't. For God's sake, the guy had offered him a blowjob pretty much right off the bat. Sometimes Michael wondered what the look on his face would be if he asked him if he was still able to cash that in. Out of all the scenarios he'd played out in his mind that one was the fucking funniest (but for all his talk, he was too chicken to ever actually do it).

Still. There he was, bumbling about like a big dumb idiot, too loud and obnoxious at times, too withdrawn at others. He simply had no damn idea what to do with himself, and was reduced to flailing around like one of those inflatable long-armed balloon people that wiggle around in the wind outside car dealerships fucking slapping himself in the face at every turn.

He’d act like too much of a bro, thumping Gavin on the shoulder whenever the other man did anything sweet for him. And he did a lot, Michael was starting to notice – brought him hot cups of tea in the evening or made breakfast in the morning, plucked flowers from their neighbours’ window boxes, stole snacks from the Gents’ place whenever he went over. 

Once Michael would’ve said ‘thanks,’ and that’d be that. Now his tongue felt too big in his mouth and he’d instead pound a fist against Gavin’s back, or arm, or slap him on the shoulder, and blurt out something totally cringeworthy like “Good one” or “Solid, bro” or “Legend.” Like what the fuck. Why did his mouth betray him so. He was just overcome by sheer awkwardness at how much he _liked_ the other man and would be left staring at _himself_ in horror while Gavin rubbed his arm and gave him increasingly befuddled looks.

Fucking atrocious.

Other times, his nerves would fade away and he’d find himself blustering and cocky. Like the time he was posing in front of the mirror trying to find the best angle to take a selfie, because his arms looked huge today and all his weight training was starting to pay off, and Gavin walked in behind him. There was nothing that made a person more self-conscious than being caught taking a photo of themselves but Michael, startled at being caught shirtless and desperate to somehow play it cool, made the snap decision to _flex in his face_ and smirk and ask, “How’d I look?”

Gavin spluttered. He stared at Michael’s bare chest – pecs were looking pretty good too, if he did say so himself – then up at his face, turned bright red, and squeaked, “Good, yeah. Good. Top. Ten out of ten.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael asked, in this ridiculously low sort of macho voice, and then took things a step too far by kissing his bicep. Gavin stared at him, burst into a fit of high-pitched laughter and left the room in hysterics while Michael stood there flushed with shame and kicking himself. Great, now he looked like a douche and Gavin had gone from flustered mess to busting a gut whenever he walked into the room. Jesus Christ. Someone save him from himself.

He then decided on testing the waters to try and actually make this _go_ somewhere, but that just led to a series of bizarre attempts at flirting, all of which came off like bad jokes. 

From “It’s cute when you have no fucking clue what you’re doing” (insultingly terrible) to “ _You’re_ fucking hot” (not the best thing to say after Gavin had just given himself a first degree burn on a pizza tray) to “I like some Queen’s English in my vocabulary” (what even), each attempt was worse than the last.

“You’re acting really weird lately,” Gavin said eventually, after Michael’s attempts to indicate he liked him culminated in a fight over Gavin _not_ wanting the coffee he’d painstakingly made him. He’d even done the little foamy leaf swirl on the top, although their back-and-forth shoving of the mug across the coffee table as Gavin kept saying he didn’t want it and Michael kept insisting he give it just a _sip_ had made the lovingly crafted pattern distort into something that looked more like a Rorschach test.  

“Excuse you, I have not,” was Michael’s indignant and thoroughly untruthful response, “I take offence to that.”

“I mean it,” Gavin said, looking quite genuinely concerned as he peered at him over the brim of the mug, which he’d been eventually bullied into taking. “Is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s just fine. What the hell do you mean, weird?”

“Like sort of… manic.” Gavin sipped the coffee and pulled a subtle, strained sort of face that made Michael’s heart snk in embarrassment. “Have I done something?”

“Yeah, you’re just being as fucking annoying and ridiculous as always,” Michael informed him. 

“Oi!”

“Oi yourself. _Manic_ my ass, I’ll show you manic when I take a shit in your shoes in the middle of the night.”

“What are you even _talking_ about?” Gavin squawked. “You’ve ceased to make any sense, _Michael_.”

“That’s how I feel whenever you open your damn mouth, _Gavvy_.” He left the room, feeling hot and ridiculous and like he’d made a thorough fool of himself (which, to be honest, he _had_ ), Gavin sputtering in confusion over on the couch, probably convinced that Michael was out of his damn mind. 

Still. Things only got worse from there. Changing tactics, Michael fell instead to trying to deflect any suspicion of his crush, which mostly involved pulling pigtails. He teased Gavin a lot at the best of times but now it became even more childish. Inviting Gavin out to do things only to trash talk him the whole time, making fun of his bed hair, pinning him down in drunken wrestling battles, flicking empty bottle caps at him when he was trying to work at the computer. Luckily Gavin, happy go lucky rubber ball that he was, laughed it off as just Michael joking around.

At the same time he started avoiding Gavin’s own touches, of which he was starting to realise there were many – a hand reaching out to poke incessantly at Michael’s back when he was trying to work, a head resting on his shoulder when they watched TV together. He squirmed away, afraid that every second they touched Gavin would somehow telepathically realise that he was enjoying it too much, that it meant too much to him, and then he’d be thoroughly humiliated. 

“You’re acting weird again,” Gavin said pretty often nowadays, but with something more like bemusement in his voice. He’d reach to take Michael’s temperature and he’d once again bat him away. “You are!”

“Fuck off,” Michael mumbled weakly, but he knew this couldn’t last. He was a fucking mess and it was all building up to him doing something absolutely idiotic and irredeemable, he knew. But for now, for once in his life, he was a fucking _coward_.

 

* * *

 

The Corpirate didn’t come after them again. 

Or if he did, somehow the assassins failed to reach them. They did move flats, just in case. It took Michael a little while to get it all set up, but one day the pieces fell into place and the next thing he knew, he and Gavin were packing up the little life they’d built for themselves in the flat. Two and a half months fit neatly into three big cardboard boxes. They’d never really bought much furniture, nothing they couldn’t leave behind, and after Cyclone Travis they’d anticipated having to move anyway and hadn’t bothered replacing a lot of the shit that was broken. It was really mostly junk and crockery.

Still. Michael felt oddly sentimental as he and Gavin stood side by side in the middle of their bare flat, Geoff honking the horn furiously outside because he was parked illegally in a bus zone waiting for them to come down. They had _memories_ here, and it was the first time in his life that Michael had actually care about leaving a place behind.  

He knew if it was just him he wouldn’t give a fuck. But Gavin looked a bit upset, too, arms wrapped around himself as he looked around, and on impulse Michael reached out and squeezed his arm. 

“Hey,” he said, and Gavin turned to him and gave a small smile. “Still need a place to crash or can you pay your rent on your own by now?”

Gavin’s grin widened.

“I like having a roommate,” he said, and nudged Michael with his elbow. “Still happy for me to clean instead of paying rent?” 

“Sounds like a deal to me,” Michael said, and they beamed at each other, and his hand was still on Gavin’s arm and it was sort of disgustingly cute- 

And that would have been a fucking fantastic moment to make a move because, y’know, if things crashed and burned horribly Gavin could’ve just gone to live with someone else with far less hassle than if he’d already moved in with Michael. But before Michael could say anything – even as his lips parted, _breathlessly_ , like a moment straight from a fucking Mills and Boon novel, Geoff let loose the most tremendous blast on his horn outside.

“Hey, idiots!” he shrieked, loudly enough that they could hear him through the open window and a flock of startled pigeons took off from a nearby balcony. “I’m gonna get a fucking ticket if you don’t get your asses out here!”

“Better go,” Gavin whispered. Michael’s hand slipped from his arm and for a moment he wanted to take Gavin’s in his and squeeze. Instead he nodded, fool that he was, and turned and picked up a box instead.

 

* * *

 

So clearly he was not going to ever get this done of his own volition. Like some sort of pining, incredibly gay Prince Hamlet it seemed he was doomed to an indefinite period of unholy procrastination unless he tried some other tactic to get his ass in gear. 

And, like Prince Hamlet, he decided that he’d have _grounds more relative than this_ – some outside source, evidence that Gavin one hundred percent for-sure did like him back. Then, he reasoned, _then_ it would be easy to make a move, because there would be no risk of awkwardness and he’d have no reason to be chicken. 

That was how he found himself standing in front of Gladstone Municipal Library. A modern looking building in a rather eclectic part of AC, it was located above an organic market and between a dodgy looking massage parlour and a shop selling crystals and incense. Maybe, Michael thought darkly, if this didn’t go well he could resort to fortune tellers and tarot readings.

He hadn’t set foot in a library since the very brief period of time he’d spent at school when he was fourteen or so. Forgive him for thinking that inside it was going to be hushed and peaceful, an air of intellectual solemnity to the place, surrounded by the gentle smell of old books and silent save for the occasional rustle of a page turning or the clicking keys of someone typing. 

But no. He stepped square into what felt like some sort of fever dream; the place was packed, tables surrounded by crowds of students, the computer station filled with elderly individuals violently clacking away at the keyboards and cursing loudly at the screens. The air was filled with the babble of conversations, the screams and shrieks of small children, the deafening whine of jammed photocopiers and echoing rock tunes from someone inconsiderately playing their music without headphones. He could smell stale coffee and the unmistakeable faint cheesy reek of someone’s microwave reheated Italian leftovers. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “Okay,” and ventured into this peculiar jungle. 

Ryan was at the back of the library painstakingly reshelving books out of a little cart with a cartoonishly squeaky wheel. When he saw Michael approaching he turned, and his eyebrows rose.

“You’re not here to blow up the place, are you?” he asked.

“Can you not say _blow up_ so fucking loudly?” Michael hissed back, glancing around. The only person nearby was a small, grotty looking child who was methodically tearing pages out of a picture book and chewing on them. He doubted anyone had heard Ryan over the chaos. “And no, I’m not, actually!”

“Oh. Good. Because I kind of need this place to earn a living.”

He’d seen Ryan in casual wear around the Gents’ house on the myriad of occasions he’d been over for beer-and-heist-planning, or as happened more often than not, beer-and-play-Xbox-instead-of-heist-planning. But somehow it was still jarring to see the Vagabond standing in the middle of a public library, mask off, in a fucking _polo_ shirt.

“God, it’s bizarre seeing you here,” he said, following Ryan as he squeaked his way down the aisle. “Didn’t you say you took hits before joining Geoff?”

Given the dismally unimpressive nature of the last time he’d seen Ryan in action, he found that part of the story a little hard to believe, unless Ryan had managed to take his victims out through a series of sheer misadventures.

But Ryan shrugged, then, and laughed.

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Don’t you find it hard? Going from that world into… into _this_?”

He gestured around the library. Ryan followed his gaze and laughed.

“Trust me, it’s more dangerous in _here_ ,” he said. “Never underestimate the power of an entitled old person. Plus we get some weirdos in here late at night.”

Michael chuckled, too.

“Still,” he said, “I don’t think I could do it.”

“What?”

“This half-criminal, half-civilian thing. Same with Jeremy. Nah, it’s all in or all out for me.” Truth be told, the way the Fake AH Crew operated (or, more accurately, they way they _didn’t_ operate) was more like 80% civilian, 10% criminal, and 10% criminal-in- _theory_ , but still - Michael had been mired in this shit since he was a kid. He didn’t know anything else.

Ryan gave him a funnily serious look.

“Things aren’t always as black and white as that,” he commented.

Michael bit his lip. He thought of hot summer days in the flat with Gavin. Grocery runs to the store in their shorts and flip-flops, arguing over what ice pops to buy, laughing when the self-checkout fucked them over, tumbling home to watch the late night news. They did their own work at their computers, but they didn’t talk much about the jobs they were doing. To any outside observer, they probably seemed like a thoroughly normal couple.

_Of roommates_. Couple of roommates.

“But I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about my career choices,” Ryan said, knocking Michael out of his reverie.

He looked up to find Ryan’s gaze fixed on him sharply. And the Fakes weren’t idiots - well, they _were_ , collectively, but one on one they had their rare moments of perceptiveness. Even Gavin had a few weirdly niche areas of expertise.

“No,” Michael said, and swallowed. Suddenly his nerves were back, which was stupid. It was just Ryan, after all. Merely _talking_ about Gavin shouldn’t be enough to send him into a tizzy - but apparently it was. God, he was _gone_ for that boy.

“Gavin,” he said, and Ryan’s brows furrowed.

“What about him?” A flicker of concern. “Is he okay? Did something happen? Did those guys come after you again?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We’re all fine.” He and Gavin had told the others about that little abduction in the dead of night incident, and they’d been justifiably horrified. Michael thought it’d maybe made things sink in a bit, exactly what sort of fire they were playing with here, because there’d been no crazy heist plans since then.

He swallowed again. This had seemed like a fucking fantastic idea last night after three glasses of whiskey. Now he just felt like a bit of a creepy weirdo.

“I was just curious about a couple things and thought I’d ask you about them.”

One of Ryan’s eyebrows rose, slowly, like a hot air balloon ascending majestically up his forehead.

“Questions that were so pressing you decided to hunt me down at work? I’m intrigued.”

“Just stupid shit, really.”

“Go ahead.”

“Gavin have any exes?”

Ryan’s second eyebrow crept to join the first. Michael squirmed, like a bug pinned under his intense gaze. A creepy weirdo stalker bug.

“Now why would you be interested in that?” Ryan asked, but there was an almost _teasing_ note in his voice that gave Michael the distinct impression he knew _exactly_ why. “Seems like something you could ask him yourself.”

“Don’t wanna give him the wrong idea,” Michael muttered.

“Would it be wrong?” Ryan prompted. 

When Michael couldn’t reply, his teasing grin only widened. Michael’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he turned on his heel.

“Look, I can go somewhere else if you-”

“Alright, alright, just messing with you.” Ryan looked like he was holding back laughter at this point, but Michael’s big fear had been that he’d freak out and say they weren’t a good match, that he’d put Gavin in danger, that he wasn’t good enough for someone so sweet. Too much blood on his hands. “From what I gather he’s been on a lot of dates since arriving in America, but none of them have ever gone anywhere. He had a girlfriend back in England who he was going pretty steady with for a while. I think things ended pretty messily with her. That’s the only ex I know of.”

“I see,” Michael said. “But he’s, y’know…”

“Into dudes? Yeah, for sure.” Ryan’s grin widened. “That answer your questions? Or you wanna know his type, too?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Michael said, and scowled when Ryan laughed. “Come on, asshole. I’m _trying_ here.”

“You’re trying something. Look, dude - if you’re into him, just go for it. Although I’m not one to talk considering how long it took me to work up the nerve to actually act on the hints I thought Jack and Geoff were sending me.”

“So you _are_ dating.” He’d had his suspicions the last few times he went around their house but had never put the pieces together, and for some reason decided it would be more fun trying to figure it out than just ask Gavin.

“Yeah.” The softness in Ryan’s smile made Michael pause, too, there was something so genuinely affectionate in it. “To be fair, it’s not exactly common, a three-way relationship like ours. Of course I had doubts about if I was reading things totally wrong. But I wouldn’t give things up for the world.”

“How long were they together before you joined in?”

“Four years. So it was a big switch. We’re all real close,” Ryan added, “Jeremy and Gavin are like my little brothers. We really are one big family. Too many people in this world want to fuck each other over. You have to hold the people who do care about you close. Not everyone we try to bring into the fold clicks as well as you have. If you wanted to stick around, I think it’d be just fine.”

“But Gav... “ he trailed off. His doubt must’ve shown on his face, because Ryan clapped him on the shoulder.

“He gets on with you better than anyone else I’ve seen. He’s brought people around before but he doesn’t look at any of them like he looks at you. He hasn’t said anything to the rest of us, so I can’t give you a definite answer, but I think you have a good shot.”

It was exactly what Michael had wanted to hear, and his heart was pounding. But having a solid answer also meant that he had no more excuses. The next step was actually putting his heart on the line, and that was more terrifying than any heist or hit could ever be.

“Right,” he murmured, and Ryan squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey - thanks for getting him out of there, when those hitman grabbed you,” he said. “I know we sort of got you into this mess. You owe us shit all but you’ve taken care of him. We trust you.”

That meant a lot, and Michael thought back to Gavin’s offer. _Join us. You fit in_. But that was a big step all on its own, and he gave a small smile and a shrug.

“Still. The Corpirate doesn’t forgive and forget easily. I worry it’s only a matter of time until the next guy with a gun comes along.”

“Yeah, the three of us are actually gonna move, too. But we’ll figure things out. Until then - why let it consume us?”

“Fair enough,” Michael said, and they smiled at one another for a moment before Ryan gestured at the books.

“Should get back to work,” he said, and Michael shook himself.

“Right. Yeah. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks, Ryan.”

Ryan nodded, and turned away. Michael stepped away but paused as he looked back at him, happily slotting books back onto the shelves, pausing every now and then to puzzle over the Dewey Decimal System. There was something soothing to the _order_ of it all. Somehow Ryan fit more easily into this world than he did in his mask and leathers. But he was handling it, and he was clearly happy with his two boyfriends. For a moment Michael was almost jealous. He seemed to have it all figured out.

_You could, too._ The hard part was getting there, and his stomach was twisted with butterflies as he turned to head home.

 

* * *

 

What he didn't anticipate was a change in _Gavin's_ behaviour.

Their new apartment was bigger than the last one, and in a nicer area. Michael had spent a bit more on it. Given that the last flat was meant to be a temporary hideout, he'd picked the smallest, shoddiest place he could find where the Corpirate wouldn't be able to hunt them down. Now he'd put a bit more thought into it, as though it was a place he'd actually stay.

Gavin had his own room now, right down the hall from Michael's. It made things feel a bit more equal, although Michael missed being able to wander out and find him at the drop of a hat. Still - they went out shopping and did a lot of perusing online, and maybe got a bit too excited doing terribly domestic things like stock up their kitchen, and pick out lampshades, and spend far too long arguing over what type of couch to get (and then each pick pillows for 'their side'). A new pot plant took up residence on the kitchen windowsill. 

It felt like making a home together. Michael thought of his flat back in Jersey, his room strewn messily with old clothes, the kitchen filled with nothing but alcohol and take away boxes, maintaining practically nothing but his shelf of Xbox games. He didn't miss it, not even a little. He was getting used to this city - even the nasty parts, the alleys stinking of piss, the sirens that plagued the night. He knew his way around, and which places had the best coffee, and which pizza joints were cheesy enough for his taste, and all Gavin's favourite bars and hubs, and which booth the Fakes sat in at the diner they'd all go to for breakfast some Sunday mornings. That was as familiar to him now as the city he'd grown up in; maybe not in the memories of it, but the feelings. A different, more intimate sort of belonging.

And everything he did with Gavin now felt like making a home together, and perhaps there was something a little too permanent about that, but Michael found it hard to pay attention to, because now Gavin was the one acting strangely.

It was nothing drastic. That was why it was so hard to put a finger on. But sometimes when the other man talked to him, now, he wouldn't meet Michael's eyes, but focus instead on a point across the room and only give him little sidelong, bashful glances now and then. Other times, as Michael lugged boxes of furniture around or swore and raged as he struggled to assemble Ikea furniture, he'd catch Gavin lingering in a nearby doorway just standing there, watching him. He'd glance away guiltily when caught.

He'd get flustered at the most random conversations. Just little things, like Michael asking him stuff about England, or the two of them chatting about video games over dinner, or Michael showing him news stories about crime around the city and mulling over some of the jobs he'd taken in the past. Gavin's cheeks would go red and he'd trip over his words and he'd pull his limbs back into himself like he was embarrassed to get too close.

Considering he'd been entirely shameless a few weeks ago, draping himself over Michael at any given opportunity, having utterly no qualms about any of the inane things that came out of his mouth, it was disconcerting, and made Michael feel pretty awkward about things too. 

The only thing he could think of was that Ryan had said something.

Damn it, he hadn't exactly asked him to keep it a secret. He'd just assumed that was a given. But maybe, he thought, seething, maybe Ryan had decided to be _helpful_ and try to get them together. Hell, he'd probably told Jack and Geoff all about his little visit. God, why the hell had he thought going to him was a good idea? Who the fuck knew what he might have said! And worst case scenario, maybe Gavin was awkward because he didn't know how to turn Michael down. That would be fucking nightmarish. He'd probably curl up and die in shame, like a very sad and withered snail.

Still.

It made for a very awkward few days, but in the end things resolved themselves, as they are wont to do. It had been another hot couple of weeks, the humidity building up until it finally broke in a massive thunderstorm.

It began with a heavy downpour that was soon rent with rolling crashes of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. The gale force winds were lashes the trees outside so hard they could see the trunks bending from the window and were quite worried branches would fall and damage the cars parked along the roadside.

That wasn't the problem. Gavin was quite happy to sit at the window with a cup of tea and watch the rain. Michael was the one rushing about putting buckets under all the leaky spots in the ceiling.

He'd just placed the last one when with a final crash of thunder all the lights in their flat flickered and went out.

"Fuck," Michael hissed, jumping. He heard a distant, surprised scream from somewhere else in the building. It was pitch black, because the sun had already been setting and the sky was thick with clouds, and he could barely see an inch in front of his face. He pulled out his phone and turned it on to use as a light. "Gav?"

"What happened?" Gavin's voice called back from the other room, weakly.

"Power's out." In the light of his phone it was pretty easy to navigate to the living room. Gavin was curled up in the couch and the window provided at least a dim sort of square of light. Michael crossed over to him. "The storm probably took out a power line. It's the whole building if not the whole block."

"Should we go like try fix it or something?"

"No point until the storm's done. If it is a power line then someone else will deal with it. For now I guess we're stuck in the dark."

"We don't have candles or torches or something?"

"We just moved house. Wasn't exactly at the top of my list of shit to buy."

Gavin made an unhappy noise. Michael sat next to him on the couch, putting his phone on the coffee table in front of them. In the dim light he could see how the other man’s limbs were drawn up and he jumped at each crash and bang outside.

"You alright?" Michael asked. "Not scared of the dark, are you?"

Gavin shook his head, but after a moment he shifted closer to Michael on the couch and pressed their shoulders together. It was still warm in the flat even now the humidity had broken, but Michael didn't pull away.

"No, not that," he murmured. "It just made me think of when Travis broke into our house. They didn't have the lights on. When I woke up at first I couldn't see anything. I didn't know what was going on. The last thing I remember before they knocked me out is hearing gunshots from your room. I thought they'd killed you."

"Jesus," Michael breathed. He didn't know what to say. They didn't talk about that night nearly enough - had brushed it off like it was just another thing. And maybe for Michael it was, but not Gavin. And hell, even he had had nightmares now and then about things going differently - about seeing them shoot Gavin then and there in front of him, waking up swallowing a scream and heading to the door of his room to peek out into the living room and make sure he could see the rise and fall of Gavin's chest where he slept on the couch.

"Yeah," Gavin said. His lips twisted unhappily. "Sorry. It's stupid-"

"It's not stupid." Michael wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer. Gavin followed easily, resting his head against Michael's. Pressed this close, he could feel Gavin breathing. It reassured him, too. "I'm sorry. I should've made sure you were okay after what happened. It's my fault the Corpirate got pissed enough to hunt you down. I'm the one who killed his men."

"It's not your fault. You warned us and you got me out of there. You didn't have to. If anything it's our fault for being idiots and not researching who we were messing within the first place."

"Well, let's not play the blame game." His thumb rubbed against the bare skin of Gavin's arm and he felt him lean into the touch. "We got out of there, but it makes sense you're shaken by it. It's not something to be ashamed of."

"You never seem scared, though."

"I was scared when they caught us. When I realised just how deep the shit we were both in was..." he trailed off. He could see Gavin watching him, green eyes trained to the side of Michael's face. "And I've been scared before. I acted real tough growing up - had to, not to seem weak - but to be honest I spent most of my time scared shitless. In this world you spend a lot of time bluffing. Acting like you're the scariest guy in the room so that other people won't mess with you. Like you're the one who's gonna hurt other people instead of being the one who gets fucked. I think a lot of people in these jobs are more cowardly than they want to admit."

Gavin was very quiet. Michael wondered if he was dwelling on the Fake AH Crew - what they wanted to be - how things were more likely to actually go if they tried to become big. It was nothing but a dream, a fantasy. He knew it wouldn't ever actually work out. He thought, deep inside, that none of them really wanted it to. Something he hadn't asked Ryan was if he'd stopped taking hits after joining the Fakes. He wondered what the answer would be. It was hard to think of Ryan as he'd been in that library - hair dishevelled, in a sweater that looked like it would belong on someone's grandfather - gunning down targets in back alleys and rundown flats.

Gavin wasn't a coward, he thought - when it had been most important, most crucial, he'd proven his bravery. That meant something. That meant a lot, actually.

"But like I was saying," he said, "It doesn't make you weak. I remember the first time I really, properly got hurt on a job. I was eighteen and running with an awful gang - shortly after this I stopped working with any groups - and a deal we were making went wrong. We'd been planning to double cross them; I'd set all these charges at the place we told them to meet and we were gonna blow them to fucking smithereens-"

He broke off when Gavin giggled.

"I'm sorry, is my tragic backstory amusing to you?" he demanded, but there was a hysterical chuckle in his own voice.

"No, sorry, it's just the word 'smithereens' reminds me of Dexter's Lab. I don't know why I associate them together. It just made me think of it." Gavin pressed his forehead into Michael's shoulder and he felt his whole body flush warm. He sighed exasperatedly, but did tuck his arm a little tighter around the other man's shoulders.

"Well, there was doom and gloom and things went boom, but not the way we'd planned. The charges set off too late and didn't get all of them. A shootout started and the guys on my side were... I guess pissed that I'd failed them. One of my own crewmates shot me in the abdomen and left me for dead. Thought it'd pacify the other guys to at least catch one of them, I assume. Well, they were wrong - the guys chased after them and I was left in a burning warehouse with my guts hanging out, bleeding to fucking death. I'm lucky that the guy who brought me into the crew in the first place - I'd known him since we were kids and we weren't friends, per se, but I trusted _him_ more than anyone - came back ten minutes later and got me to a hospital. I came closer to death that day than I ever have since."

In the shadowy light, Gavin's face was very serious.

"Can I see the scar?" he whispered.

Michael pulled his shirt up. With only the phone providing them with light, it was hard to see - the wound had faded over the years - but Gavin touched his stomach lightly. Michael fought not to shiver.

"That sucks," Gavin murmured. "I'm sorry you went through that."

"I knew what I was getting into. You have to, if you want to be part of this world." He let his shirt drop, but Gavin didn't pull his hand back completely. Just rested it on Michael's knee. "Point is, I had nightmares for over a year afterwards. Hell, sometimes I still do. And I triple check everything now because I never want to risk a job going that wrong again. Plus, like I told you, I rarely go in on jobs with crews nowadays. So it's not something _anyone_ just gets over."

Gavin nodded. In the silence that fell, broken only by the heavy, drumming rain, Michael felt suddenly self-conscious. He couldn't remember the last time he had a conversation that personal with anybody, but he didn't regret it. If anything it was like a weight off his shoulders - to be able to share something like that with someone he genuinely trusted.

"I think you're brave," Gavin said finally, softly, and Michael gave a small smile.

"Thanks. I do appreciate that. You, too."

He caught Gavin's smile and had the sudden urge to kiss the top of his head, but had to pull himself back. _You can't do that. Not here, not now - not yet._

 

* * *

Later that week he started looking up jobs in AC.

 

* * *

 

If he’d felt awkward seeking out Ryan, it was even weirder asking Ray to meet with him. He’d acquired all the others’ contact numbers from Gavin - ‘in case of emergency’ - but part of him wondered if the other man would even reply. What did he have to do with Michael, after all?

As it was, Ray did text him back, and they ended up meeting in a little cafe on Ray’s end of the city. Michael felt a bit weird sitting there waiting for him to come, and even more awkward once Ray turned up and sat slouched in the seat opposite him, quietly staring at Michael with his dark eyes. It wasn’t that he disliked the other man, because he didn’t - no, honestly, he _didn’t_. He knew by now that he and Gavin were just friends. 

He wasn’t sure what it was that irked him. The knowledge that Ray _hadn’t_ taken Gavin in when he needed someone to? He could hardly be cross about that when he’d kicked him out too, at first, and when he’d _seen_ Gavin’s terrible spending habits and tendency to borrow unreasonable amounts from his friends. Or maybe it was because Ray still worked in AC, because he still represented everything that Michael, in coming here, had been trying to get away from. That seemed hypocritical because Michael was still doing consulting work here and Gavin had started taking small hacking jobs.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. But as they very tentatively ordered coffee and then sat there in a strained silence waiting for them to arrive, he couldn’t help but notice how tired Ray looked.

“Long week at work?” he managed finally, and then cringed at how lame he sounded.

Ray's eyes flicked to him. He didn't smile, that was what was putting Michael off. Not that he was exactly Mr Sunshine himself, but he was too used to Gavin and the others. Even Jeremy, who he'd spent the least time with, gave him a big grin every time he saw him.

"I guess," Ray replied finally, and then the awkward silence resumed as their coffee arrived. He watched in horror as Ray emptied three packets of sugar into his and stirred it vigorously before resting one elbow lazily on the table and leaning forward. "So. You asked me out for coffee but I'm gonna assume this isn't a very weird first date, given how much you've been fucking pining over Gavin for the last month."

Michael nearly choked on his first mouthful. He sputtered furiously before staring at Ray with wide eyes.

"Who the fuck told you that?" he demanded.

"Dude." For the first time amusement glinted in Ray's eyes. "It's obvious to everyone."

"Who said something? Ryan?"

"What about Ryan?" Ray asked, and laughed again. "Jesus, it's not like it's the fucking nuclear launch codes. Why so confidential? I mean, if you said something to Ryan then I guess Jack and Geoff know. But Jeremy's noticed how you guys interact whenever you're over at the house together, and even I could tell that one time we all went out for dinner together. It's really, really not hard to tell."

Michael's cheeks burned. He hadn't actually come here to talk about Gavin, but here they were.

"Does he know?" he asked, and Ray shook his head.

"Ha! Have you met Gav? He's oblivious as fuck, especially when it comes to relationships. Not only that, he's so shy he wouldn't believe that you'd actually be into it unless someone showed him fucking written and photographic proof, and even then it'd have to be from your mouth. But he's totally into you as well. It's just as obvious."

That made Michael smile, he couldn't help it. When Ray noticed, his own lips stretched into a grin and the last of Michael's resentment melted away. Ray was clearly fond of Gavin, for all their differences, he just had a bit of a weird way of showing it.

"Right. Well, that's not what I wanted to chat to you about. I want to stay in Achievement City."

"I figured."

"I just wanted to know how this works - for you. Being part of the Fakes and doing your own thing. I spoke to Ryan a bit about how he juggles his two jobs but honestly I don't think he actually does that much criminal shit."

"You're damn right. Ryan talks a big talk and acts all scary but that library job is the fucking centre of his life. Geoff hired him to be an 'assassin,'" Ray pulled his face, with mocking air quotes, "But he can't even fire a damn gun properly. I'm pretty sure he didn't actually pull off all the jobs on his resume."

“Resume?” Michael asked.

“Yeah.” Ray’s lips were twitching furiously now, “When Geoff asked him to meet up he brought one.”

“That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as a fucking criminal resume.”  
  
“Exactly!” Ray said, and the second they met each other’s eyes they both cracked up laughing. The tension broke, and Michael felt his shoulders relax. 

“Honestly, though,” Ray said finally, “The Fakes pull off a ‘heist’ - if you can even call it that - maybe every six months? So it’s no strain on me to help them out, which usually involves getting the cops off their asses when things inevitably go sideways. In the meantime, I do freelance sniping jobs. Never for big gangs, and I research the targets before I accept the jobs, so I keep myself out of too much trouble. That keeps me fed.”

“Right,” Michael said.

“You’ve been working freelance the last couple months, yeah?”

“Yeah, but just consulting stuff. If I stay, I’d have to get into more practical work. And it’s hard to avoid pissing people off in that.”

“There are so many small gangs in AC that I reckon you can get away with helping them out. If you do your research, you should be able to avoid stepping on any toes. Plus, you’re good with a gun. There’s always work for hired muscle around these parts. If you want to stay,” Ray said, and met his eyes intently, “There are plenty of ways to make it work.”

“At this point, I don’t think I can go,” Michael admitted. “But the Fakes…”

“What about them?”

“First up, I needa train them at least a bit. Make sure they can take care of themselves if the Corpirate does come knocking again. If it wasn’t for me, Gav would’ve been screwed when we got got.”

Ray nodded, grimly.

“You’re right about that.”

“But after that, if you and I were guiding them… they could pull off actual jobs. They’ve got some crazy ideas, but I hear Jeremy’s pretty good behind the wheel and Gavin’s a half-decent hacker. If they made a genuine effort to break into this world, they could do it. They’d never be top dogs, but…”

He trailed off. Ray’s eyebrows had risen.

“Is that what you want from them?” he asked.

Michael bit his lip.

“Honestly, no. I know what this shit is like and given the choice, I’d rather keep them out of it. Maybe some of their sillier stuff could work out. The ones like robbing museums or breaking into fashion shows, or other shit like that. Nothing that messes with other gangs.”

“Exactly,” Ray said. “To be honest, they’re happy doing what they’re doing. We can warn them off anything too… exciting.”

Michael nodded. He felt far more at ease knowing that everyone was on the same page. For a moment, they sat, sipping their drinks in silent camaraderie.

“They’re idiots,” Ray said at last, “But they have good hearts, for the most part. Better than others in this shit hole, at least. They just need assholes like us to look out for them. I… I haven’t always been the most reliable at doing that in the past,” he added, glancing away. “So it’s good that you’re staying.”

Michael nodded. He felt quite certain in his decision now - like the future wasn’t some uncertain blur, but quite clear before him, and far brighter. He smiled at Ray, and the other man smiled back - a nice one, for once, one that made Michael understand how much he actually did care, and as he relaxed back in his seat and they started chatting more about some of their other jobs, it felt like every piece was falling into place.

All that was left was to finally get things sorted with Gavin.

* * *

 

Michael didn't do things by fucking halves. If he was going to ask someone out, well, by God, he was gonna go all out.

"Get dressed," he said, sweeping into their apartment one evening just a few days later. It had taken a while to get everything in order. "We're going out."

Gavin looked up from his computer, eyes wide, then looked down at himself - his t-shirt and faded jeans.

"I am dressed," he began, but Michael snorted. He was already pulling off his own hoodie and tossing it over the back of a chair.

"No, something nice. Something really nice."

"What?" Gavin squawked. He scrambled out of his hair and hurried after Michael, lingering in the door to his bedroom. "What's happening? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Michael said, and turned to him with a wicked grin. "A fancy surprise. Come on, I know you must have something nice in your room."

Gavin stared at him, mouth open a little. But seeming to realise he was going to get no straight answers, he just frowned, suspiciously, before heading back to his own room. Michael heard his door shut, and paused, his own smile faltering just a little. He was nervous, even if he wouldn't let it show, and maybe he took just a little longer than necessary getting ready - making sure his hair looking perfect, drowning himself in cologne until he had to open the window to alleviate his self-inflicted coughing fit. He felt like he might be sick, his stomach was churning so much.

_Don't be an idiot. It's just Gavin. He's the least fucking intimidating person in the world. You see him, like, every day._

But this was different, and no matter how much he believed that the other man liked him too - there was still that remote possibility that left him uncertain. Not only that, but the knowledge that after tonight, for better or worse, everything was going to change. What if they got together only to find they had no chemistry? What if it turned out they didn't click as a couple, just as friends? What if the second they had a big fight - and God, they fought _a lot_ \- things got too personal and they ended up having a horrible, messy break up, and Michael had to go back to Jersey, and-

_Stop it._

It wasn't worth thinking about. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, he straightened the lapels of his suit and headed out into the living room to wait. Gavin emerged from his own room a few minutes later, looking a little uncertain of himself. He looked up at Michael, and his eyes widened. 

Michael stared back at him. He'd seen Gavin in all his dollar-shop Golden Boy glory, and that had been a bit laughable, but for once he'd actually put effort in. His hair was nicely swept back, his glinting sunglasses holding back his quiff, and he was wearing a neatly pressed navy button down and black pants. It was simpler than his gaudy crew look, but more sharp than the way he looked around the house. Maybe it wasn't as expensive as Geoff's hired suit that'd first pulled Michael into this whole fucking  mess, but it was... nice.

"You look good," he said, and Gavin's cheeks turned red.

"You do too," he said. "So where exactly are we going, Michael? What is all this? You didn't even give me any warning it was happening!"

"You'll see. Come on." Michael moved to the door, held it open for him, and caught Gavin's curious look as he stepped through and they headed down to the car.

Gavin must've noticed the shift in the mood between them as they headed to the restaurant. They'd driven around together dozens of times, but now something felt different, even as he tried to break the mood by guessing where they might be going, his ideas ranging from the Corpirate's funeral ("I fucking wish!") to court because Michael had secretly been arrested ("Fuck no. I'm no novice. Never been arrested in my life.") to ridiculous ideas about secret agents that Michael laughed off. When they arrived Gavin peered out the car window and his eyes widened.

"Michael, this place is hellishly expensive and you know I have no money."

"My shout," Michael said, and Gavin smiled, but he looked worried.

"Why are we here?" he whispered, and Michael's heart nearly skipped a beat. He forced himself to swallow.

"We have a job to do," he said, and held out a hand. "Come on."

Gavin hesitated - then took it, trustingly, and let Michael lead him inside and to their booking, a table for two in a shadowy corner of the restaurant. There was something nervous and blushing to Gavin now, sitting hunched in his seat and clearly a little out of place amongst all the men in Armani suits, the women in expensive dinner gowns. Even the way they held their wine glasses radiated wealth. The restaurant was lovely, too, with candles glowing on every table and the ceiling heavy with Swarovski crystal chandeliers. The waiter placed a menu in Gavin's hand, and the second he looked at it he swore under his breath.

"There's no prices," he said, and glanced at Michael. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"Don't worry," Michael assured him with a wicked grin, "We won't be paying."

Gavin stared at him, then burst into a fit of stifled giggles that he had a lift a hand to cover.

"Michael, you're terrible. So we're stealing dinner from this restaurant, is that it?"

"Oh, no. Come on. Give me a bit of credit." He leaned in and let his hand fold over Gavin's on the table under the guise of making it look natural as he murmured into his ear, "Look to your left. The table of four. See the guy with the green tie?"

Gavin peeked over.

"That is a _very_ green tie," he said, with either horror or admiration. It was hard not to be at least a _little_ impressed by such a bold fashion choice.

"Mark Davis. He's a criminal lawyer. Not powerful enough to have too many connections of his own, but managed to piss off some powerful people. I've been asked to steal a very expensive car he just bought after winning a case to get some drug dealers off the hook. When the time is right we're gonna head out back and take it."

"Won't he have someone guarding it if it's that expensive?" Gavin asked, and Michael laughed.

"A bodyguard just for his car? No, but we will make sure there's a distraction. But let's eat, first," he added. "Ever tried escargot?"

Gavin's eyes were sparkling. Now that he knew what was going on he seemed much more at ease. They ordered appetisers and cocktails, and took a sip from each other's, and put on an affected air of pleasantry as they made comments about the people around them, about the restaurant, about all the different bizarre foods they hadn't tried yet. Things felt so natural, and maybe Michael hadn't taken his hand off Gavin's yet, but the other man didn't complain and Michael didn't pull away.

They were having such a grand time that when Michael nearly missed his cue. When he looked at his watch and realised it was time, he jolted, and Gavin looked up at him.

"What?" he asked, and Michael shot him a wicked grin and ushered him in close.

"When you're ready, push this button," he said, and slipped him a remote under the table, their fingers brushing as Gavin took it in his own hand and looked down at it. His eyes widened.

"Michael, is something going to blow up?" he demanded, and Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Push it and find out," he offered.

"Always wanted to press a big, red button," Gavin mused, and with a wicked chortle pressed it. A moment later a small explosion rang out somewhere out the front doors of the restaurant, and patrons screamed and jumped, some ducking and covering their heads. It was a tiny charge in a dumpster, but it sounded loud - loud enough for a commotion to start, some people hiding, others darting to the front windows to see what was going on, the staff rushing to the door to check what was happening.

"Come on." Blood racing with a different sort of adrenaline now, Michael got up from the table and grabbed Gavin's hand, tugging him with him as in the chaos they slipped out through the back doors of the restaurant and into the adjoining car park. The night was warm and smelled like summer, and the bright red, glimmering Maserati with chrome hub caps stood out like a beacon at the far end of the lot. Michael laughed and rushed over to it, tugging a giggling Gavin with him.

"Bingo," he said, and pulled his bag from his shoulder. He took out his tools and made quick work of breaking into the car and hot wiring it. It’d been a while since he’d done this properly, but he’d made sure to do a couple of practice runs after accepting the job.

“Michael, Michael,” Gavin kept saying, caught between disbelief and chastisement and pure, sheer _glee_. He was bouncing up and down on his feet and kept glancing over his shoulder like he thought they’d get caught any second. “What if there are security cameras?”

“Already checked - they’re only inside the restaurant foyer. We left out the back so they won’t have seen us. There we go!” he cried, triumphantly, as the engine thrummed to life. He slid into the driver’s seat and leaned across to open the door for Gavin. “You coming, then?”

A wide grin split Gavin’s face. He clambered in and they were off, bursting into fits of laughter as they drove away from the faint wail of sirens and clamour of people rushing to leave. The car was a joy to drive and Michael navigated them easily away from the restaurant. After a moment he brought the roof down so the summer wind could rifle through their hair. He glanced across at Gavin and his heart swelled; with his hair whipping in the breeze, eyes crinkled with laughter and a smile splitting his face, he looked so beautiful that it nearly took Michael’s breath away.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked finally, and Gavin reached across and squeezed his hand.

“ _So much_ , Michael. That was amazing!”

“I don’t usually take these sort of jobs. But this seemed like a good one - fun, too. Give you a taste of what a proper heist is like.” He stuck out his tongue and Gavin rolled his eyes.

“It _was_ fun,” he agreed, and twisted to look over his shoulder. “Think they’ll come after us?”

“We used fake names. I bet everyone will be rushing to leave so we won’t be the only ones who didn’t pay our bill. They have no reasons to suspect we, out of everyone, took the car. Jeremy will pick up the ride we came in on his way back from uni, so we’ve left no evidence behind. I think we’re in the clear.”

He pulled out of the city centre and Gavin sighed and leaned back against his headrest.

“It reminds me of our first heist. We were stealing vehicles then, too. Parachuted in and all.”

“Jobs can be fun. Just gotta pick what you do carefully. I haven’t always been good at that,” he added, a little darkly, and Gavin squeezed his arm again. After a moment Michael reached out and turned the radio on to some shitty music channel and with the car steadily thrumming under them, the wind in their hair, it felt like they were soaring through the stars, like nothing could ever catch up to them.

* * *

 

They reached the garage he’d been told to deliver the car to, where Michael was paid with a heavy duffle of cash. Having dropped the vehicle off, he met Gavin back out front.

“Come on,” he said. “After our fine dining experience we’re now gonna catch the bus home like common peasants.”

Gavin laughed.

“I like the night bus,” he said. “There’s one out near that main road but we can walk along the beach to get there.”

Michael nodded. It was late by now, and a clear, bright night. They headed down a cliffside trail onto one of AC’s less touristy beaches. It was empty at this late hour, the tide high and lapping noisily at the shore. The sand was soft and gave way under their shoes, and they kept laughing when they lost their balance.

“Can I hold your hand?” Michael asked after a minute, and couldn’t bring himself to meet Gavin’s eyes. He saw the other man turned to look at him, and in the pause that followed he knew Gavin understood that it was more than just a question. But after a moment his warm hand slipped into Michael’s, their fingers tangling together. They walked on, bumping against one another’s sides now and then, dishevelled from the wind, sand in their eyes and hair, everything somehow _perfect_.

“Was this a date?” Gavin blurted out finally, and Michael’s heart leaped into his throat. He swallowed, hard.

“What would you think if it was?” he managed, but the nervous note in his voice gave it away, and Gavin laughed.

“I’d be pretty happy,” he said shyly, and Michael squeezed his hand.

“ _Phew!”_ he cried, exaggeratedly, and Gavin burst into nervous giggles. “Why then, yes. It was.”

“Excellent,” Gavin said, “I’m terribly pleased.”

“Took me some planning.”

“You did a good job. Ten out of ten. Fancy food, costumes, drama, criminal activity… checked all the boxes.” Gavin was smiling so widely now that Michael thought his cheeks must ache; his did, from laughing so much this entire evening. They paused, halfway down the beach, alone here under the stars. He took Gavin’s other hand and turned to face him.

“Took me long enough to get around to doing this,” he said.

“Yeah, I thought you were acting a bit weird lately,” Gavin teased, and Michael gave an indignant huff.

“You’re one to talk! But honestly, I’ve been waiting a while. I kind of want to kiss you. Here seems like a nice spot.”

“My first kiss was at a train station near where you scan your Oyster card,” Gavin informed him solemnly, and Michael let out a hysterical laugh.

“Wow. Okay. I think I can one-up that a bit,” he said, and when Gavin nodded, he squeezed his hands and leaned in. It was strange, after so long imagining what this moment might be like, playing it out guiltily again and again in his mind. And he’d be lying if he said it was the stuff of dreams; it was so windy that his hair kept going in his face, and he was shaking because he was so nervous, and he felt a bit unsteady on the sand, and the duffle bag was heavy and making one of his shoulders ache. But somehow he barely noticed a thing except that it was Gavin in his arms, Gavin’s lips pressed to his, and that was all he cared about. That made it perfect, in its own way.

He pulled back, but as soon as they’d caught their breath, Gavin abruptly reached up and grasped Michael’s face in his hands, pulling him in for another kiss - deeper, more passionate, an odd desperation in it that made it pretty damn apparent that he’d wanted this for a long time, too. Michael made a startled noise, but let him take the lead.  

“Been waiting a long time for that,” Gavin mumbled finally, when they pulled apart - but he didn’t go far, just leaned in and rested his forehead against Michael’s. Michael wrapped his arms around him, cradling him close. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“If it wasn’t obvious,” he said, “I’m staying in AC.”

Gavin laughed.

“I’m glad,” he said, and pressed his cheek to Michael’s grinning. “I’ve liked you for ages, you know? Ever since you let me come stay in your flat. You acted all tough but I could tell that underneath it you were nice. And you seemed so cool and funny.”

A warm flush was spreading through Michael’s chest. This was everything he’d dreamed of. It was almost difficult to believe. 

“I didn’t like _you_ for ages,” he teased, and Gavin laughed and indignantly slapped at his shoulder, “But hey, you won me over.”

“Good,” Gavin huffed, and Michael chuckled and tugged him down to kiss the top of his head.

“Very good,” he agreed, and wrapped his arm around Gavin’s waist, holding him close as they continued their way along the beach.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Michael was woken again by the buzzing of his phone, pulling him from blissful sleep. It was only just past dawn. This time, at least, he wasn’t hungover. This time, there was a warm body in the bed next to him, murmuring unhappily at the interruption. He picked up his phone, and frowned a little.

“Trevor?” he said, as he took the call. “What’s going on? Everything alright?”  
  
It’d been three months since the failed hit. They’d swapped the occasional text, but otherwise it’d been radio silence from his home city. He was surprised to find how little he’d missed anything about it.

“Michael? Yeah, how are you going? Haven’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Getting by. Did something happen?” He sat up, alarmed, wondering if the Corpirate was after them again, if Trevor had heard something, if things were about to fall apart. They’d been so good, the last couple of weeks. He’d been lining up small jobs for himself, and the Fakes had been doing their usual schtick of planning but not actually getting around to anything, and Gavin had been doing a few hacking jobs, slowly building up his skills, running everything past Michael to make sure he wasn’t taking on anything that could get him in real trouble.

“Nothing bad,” Trevor said. “Good news, actually. Got some intel in today. Looks like the Corpirate’s given up on you. Bigger targets came along to give him trouble and the fact that you didn’t come after him again made it pretty clear that you weren’t someone he has to worry about trying to disrupt his operations. If you want to leave the city, you should be free to go.”

“Right. Thanks.” There was relief in Michael’s voice, but also distraction, and in the long pause that followed he knew Trevor must’ve picked up on something.

“You’re not leaving,” Trevor said slowly, “Are you? Otherwise you would’ve been pestering me with calls these last few months trying to work out when you could get out of there.”

Gavin had sat up by now, groggily, and was watching him, trying to figure out what was going on. Michael reached out and put a hand on his knee, squeezing gently, reassuring him with a small smile.

“No, I’m not,” Michael replied. “There was good work in Jersey but that was the only thing keeping me there. I’ve found a lot more reasons to stay here in AC.”

“It’s a cesspool,” Trevor said flatly, and Michael couldn’t help but laughing.

“Yeah, it is. But there are things that make it worth it. Thank you, though, Trevor. I won’t forget your help. There aren’t a lot of people who care about their friends in this business. I owe you one.”

Trevor hummed. He still sounded confused, but Michael knew this entire thing would be impossible to explain, and he didn’t pry.

“Good luck, then,” he said, before hanging up. Michael lowered the phone and turned to Gavin, who was still watching him quizzically.

“Everything okay?” he asked, and Michael nodded.

“Trevor. Telling me I could go home if I wanted. Sounds like the Corpirate’s not gonna come after us any more.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Gavin said, and Michael nodded and wrapped an arm around him, tugging him close as he lay back down.

“It is, but it hardly matters now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Home’s right here?” Gavin asked, and Michael laughed.

“You sappy fuck. But yeah, it is.”

Gavin’s breathy laugh and the way he nuzzled his face into the crook of Michael’s neck made him smile. There was warmth here, and laughter, and love, and a lot of things he’d thought were nothing but stupid fantasies, fairy tale endings. But he’d spent more than enough time trying to get to the top, taking this line of work too seriously. He could see, now, there was more than that. The Fakes might never be the big shot crew they dreamed of, may never have the fame or the fortune. But they had something else - something real - something that had called Michael here, that was calling him to _stay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who supported this silly fun story! I wrote it in advance so I'd have something to post this month while working on NaNoWriMo :') (nearly done!)
> 
> Next up I'm working on prompt fills while writing ahead on a mavinseg fantasy AU. Keep an eye out on my [tumblr](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/) for exclusive fills I post there and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/joswhale) for updates on what I'm working on <3


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